by Lucas Thorn
True to his prediction, they had to run.
And run hard.
More than once they found themselves pursued by too many draug. Draug they never quite lost in the maze of alleys despite climbing fences and crashing through small houses. Exiting out their backs in a rush of fear.
Some of those houses contained townsfolk who hadn’t made it. Who’d thought hiding in their homes would keep them safe from the Madman’s army.
Even the elf, used to the terrifying violence of the Deadlands, found herself flinching at some of the bodies she saw. Some had obviously been eaten alive. Bloody handprints showed signs of their futile struggle against waves of the undead.
She rolled free of one window, ankle slipping free from the grasping hand of a draug who couldn’t quite push itself through the gap after her. Its mouth snapped on air as she tugged her leg free just in time. Landed beside Rockjaw, who helped her quickly to her feet.
Lux was already striding away, the grim-faced deathpriest showing little sign of any difficulties his blindness might cause.
She glanced back, watching as the draug began to work its primitive brain. Trying to figure a way to follow her.
Shuddering, she sprinted after the deathpriest, Rockjaw following quickly. He pointed a massive arm. “That way!” Remembered Lux was blind. “Left! Go left!”
Nysta’s mouth was a grimace of pain.
Her fist had started bleeding heavily again, the wound broken open when she’d been forced to use it to push back the jaws of a draug to keep them from snapping into her throat. The numb wall built by the dark shadows against the agony of her broken hand had started to collapse as the stress began to build inside.
Worn away by the ceaseless spin of the icy ball of fear in her guts. Fear that at any moment a wave of flesh-starved draug would burst from the shadows. Drag her down and tear the skin from her body.
The thought of it made her gag, and she spat the bitter taste from her mouth as she ran.
There’d been draug in the Deadlands. But never this many at once. Usually only a dozen at most, spread thin across open fields. But here, they infested the streets like rats and were so tightly-packed that avoiding them was impossible. And it was only getting harder as the draug slowly converged on parts of the town they hadn’t yet picked clean of life.
If they couldn’t get out of the tight confines, she reasoned death would be inevitable.
And the elf wasn’t ready to die.
Not yet.
She still had questions. Some she wasn’t sure she even wanted to ask.
Foremost at the moment was the Madman himself. He wanted her dead. She could feel it. The yellow fog’s poisonous whispers snarled for her death. Hungered to see her torn limb from limb.
Why?
By all accounts, he’d never turned on the Crossbones before. Why now? What was driving him? Was it really her fault, like Nemo had suspected?
She thought of how the draug reacted when it had bitten into her. How the shadows had made it reel away, sickened. And thought of the knife, Queen of Hearts. How it enjoyed the taste of draug and left them not incapacitated, but dead. Truly dead.
Maybe she was the catalyst and hadn’t known it.
Maybe all this death really was her fault.
With every mutilated body she leapt across or was forced to duck around, her determination to find answers grew. Grew until it was a white hot fire inside her chest and the grimace on her face twisted toward the scar in a humourless grin which revealed the cold streak of cruelty inside her soul.
Together, the oddly-matched trio spun around another corner to find themselves facing a sight which churned the elf’s guts with greasy sickness.
Draug were crouched in groups of two or three. They lined the street, the eerie yellow fog whispering across the dust around them. At first, the undead didn’t notice the three newcomers. Their attention was on the bodies they were slowly tearing to pieces. Some draug delved into opened bellies to drag loose the entrails of their victims.
Others gnawed on limbs.
Some found worse than that to bite and chew on.
The sound of cracking bone and the gentle suck of some who slurped at gristle.
Soft hum of contentment in the whispers of the fog.
Her gaze drifted further down the street and widened as she saw a hastily-erected barricade against which a small collection of draug were hammering themselves against without much enthusiasm. The black gore spattered across the sheets of metal and piled wood showed they’d been hammering on it long enough to be mostly bored.
Standing on top, however, were men.
Men dressed in the wool tunics which seemed common to the town.
The grey material splashed with blood both black and red.
Big men. Carrying heavy axes.
One of the men peered back at her. A giant of a man. Standing taller than the others. One leg heavily strapped and bound.
Their gazes met with a sting of electricity that made them both shiver.
“Maks,” she breathed as the one-eyed raider lifted his axe and pointed it at her.
“I don’t know how the fuck you’re still alive, Nysta!” His roar made the draug lift their heads as one and turn to face him. “But there ain’t nowhere to get away from the Madman’s host. We’ve got this place on lockdown. You ain’t getting out. You hear me? You ain’t getting out! You’re trapped in there. Which means you’re dead. Only way you can survive is if you run over here. Kneel down. And beg me to let you over the wall! Maybe I’ll let you in. Maybe I’ll protect you from the draug. We were crew, once. For a while. Remember?”
The raw heat bubbling beneath the surface of his voice made her frown.
She’d never felt that much hatred from him. Never noticed anything which hinted at a desire to kill her. Sure, he’d looked at her oddly. But it hadn’t felt like hate.
And the thought bothered her more than the turning heads of the draug as they followed the one-eyed raider’s steel gaze and found something new to salivate over.
Because if she’d missed his true feeling toward her, then what else had she missed? What else had she not understood? When he’d found her, washed up on the beach, weak and afraid. Had he been thinking to slit her throat and leave her?
Was Halvir’s arrival all that had saved her from dying right there?
How could she have missed that kind of hate in him?
She took a step toward the barricade, the burning fire in her chest reaching down to grip her belly with a hate that sought to mirror his own.
“Kneel? Fuck you, you-”
But Rockjaw took her shoulder and jerked her back as several draug began padding toward them, undead eyes glinting with wild hunger.
“You won’t make it,” he said. “Doesn’t matter how good you are, Nysta. You won’t make it. You can’t kill all those draug. Or that big bastard up there. Not with only one arm. Probably not even if you had two.”
Hissing, the elf realised he was right.
She turned from the one-eyed raider. Away from more questions she wasn’t about to get any answers to. Like, where was Saja? Had the elf been wrong about her, too? Was she around, dressed in the same grey garb as Nath’s men? Was she hunting the elf?
“The temple,” Lux said, frustration turning his voice cold. “We must-”
“We can’t!” The ork grabbed the blind deathpriest and began dragging him the other way, away from the draug. “Weren’t you paying any fucking attention? Nath’s gone and fucking blocked the streets out. There ain’t no way past but there. We’re getting fucking boxed in. If we can’t get the fuck out-”
“Hey, Rockjaw!” Maks cupped his hands to his mouth to be heard. Some of the heat left his voice, replaced by something nastier. “You lose someone special? Someone you got feelings for in that big green heart of yours? Come on over here. Let’s talk about it, greenskin.”
A few men sniggered, but Maks hushed them with a scowl.
It was enough for th
e ork to flush with rage. But it was a rage he’d grown used to suppressing, so he pushed it down. Shovelled dirt on top of it and threw them a bitter look, but refused to wait.
Refused to let the draug get close.
“Assholes,” he muttered. “Fucking assholes.”
Maks spat over the edge of their barricade, his spit splashing against the bald head of one of the draug. “Run then, you cowards. Run!”
They ran.
But Rockjaw worked his jaw constantly, grinding hard teeth against each other.
Flexing his fingers, then retracting them back into gnarled fists.
The elf followed close, Lux sweeping along beside them. The blind deathpriest had his head lifted high, desiccated cheeks aimed to the wind. Nostrils sucking air. Tasting it.
She didn’t know what for, but he seemed content with what he was finding.
They didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak. Each focussed solely on surviving.
The draug were more interested now. Some came bounding behind, hooting with frenzied hunger. Others were working themselves up to speed.
The yellow fog rode their path, gleaming so bright it cast electric shadows across the walls.
This part of the town was steeped in darkness, with less lanterns. Those which had been here had mostly been spilled by rampaging draug or fleeing townsfolk. The one or two which hung from their lines to offer pockets of light served only to make her blink as her eyes grew confused.
“This way.” The ork heaved his words on the back of tired exhalations. “Might be able to double-back. But you’ll have to climb.”
The elf grunted. Her damaged hand felt cold. The arm which bore its useless weight twitched. “I can climb,” she said, more for her own benefit.
“As can I,” Lux added. “If it will get us to-”
“The temple,” Rockjaw finished for him, obviously still gnawing on the one-eyed raider’s words. “Yeah, I fucking got that the first ten fucking times.”
With draug snapping at their heels, he spiralled into another alley. Had to fight through three whip-thin draug, their faces wet with the blood of the body they’d been feeding on. The ork tore their limbs free, hacking with mechanical strokes which surprised the elf with more competency than he’d seemed to possess.
She put down one herself, drilling it through the back with Queen of Hearts so the dark enchantment ploughed into its flesh and consumed whatever spark kept it alive. The draug curled up at her feet, blank eyes staring back. Milky white and depthless.
Without pause, the ork crashed further into the alley to where a high fence barred the end. A fence Nath’s raiders had put together with the intention to keep draug from making it out of the town.
The elf’s heart began to pound as their undead pursuers channelled into the alley behind them, hoots gaining in strength as they figured their prey to be trapped.
The ork launched himself at the fence, just making the top with both hands. Quickly pulled himself up, and reached down to hold out his hand to Lux. “Jump!”
The blind deathpriest didn’t question the order and leapt to clasp the ork by his muscled arm.
Like a fish, Lux was hauled up and swung over. There was a loud thump as the deathpriest dropped to the ground on the other side before Rockjaw leaned back to reach for the elf.
Nysta, splayed on all fours, watched the draug approach. If she turned now, they were close enough to grab her before her fingers found the ork’s.
Like a pack of wild dogs, they sniffed the air. Wide grins on bleached faces.
Fear streaming like oil through her veins, making her blood pound through her body. The black worms inside her flesh froze, concentrating on the horror which stood before her in the form of an army of drooling undead. She stared back at them, feeling wild and with nothing to lose.
An idea had come to her. Mercurial and dangerous. It hinted at an opportunity.
She balanced Queen of Hearts in her hand. Felt the terrible blade’s hunger match the Madman’s own. Pointed it toward them, ignoring the ork’s call for her to hurry.
“You fellers want a taste of this?”
One of the draug darted forward, but reared back as she swiped at its face. With a hiss, it scrambled back into the relative safety of the others. Spun to glare at her. Almost petulant.
She spat hard, sending an arc of wetness splashing at their feet.
“Then if you ain’t ready to be ended, turn around. You turn the fuck around.”
Yellow fog came crawling into the alley, winding through their legs. It nosed ahead of them, flinching as the elf tensed and jabbed the ethereal smoke with her knife.
The whispers, subdued but hateful, withered in the dark.
A wave of nausea hit but she refused to succumb. Stood her ground against the mad voices.
Mother, they killed me. Cut me open. It’s dark inside. I can’t see. So dark.
What have you done to my eyes?
I’m dead. They killed me.
Mother, I have something for you. A gift. Take it. TAKE IT!
She spoke, words chipped from ice. “Turn around.”
And, as one, the draug turned.
But didn’t walk away.
Just stood like statues, backs to the elf.
Waiting.
Slowly, still unsure if the strange spell would hold them, she sheathed the wicked blade and turned. Looked up to the ork’s stunned expression and ignored his offered hand. Sprang lightly and snatched at the fence beside him. Dragged herself awkwardly with one hand and a pained grunt.
Glanced back once to see the draug had turned again to watch with blank expressions.
The yellow fog retreated slowly from the alley, taking the whispers with them.
Then she dropped to land beside the blind deathpriest who showed a nasty grin. “Now you see why I need you, Nysta.”
Rockjaw landed heavily. Looked like he wanted to grab her and put her against the wall. “What the fuck just happened?”
The deathpriest’s staff clacked off the ork’s head as Lux lashed out with it. “Use your brain, ork. If you haven’t wept it out already. And if you don’t know, then you weren’t meant to understand. Just know you’ll die another day.” He cocked his head. “Now. We must move again. Our enemies fill the streets. Only, on this side of the fence we seem to be facing the living.”
Rockjaw pressed a hand to his head, pushing at the sharp pain as though trying to absorb it into his skull. Closed his eyes and sighed. “All I wanted was to save them.”
“Then save yourself first,” Lux said with a growl.
“It’s hopeless. There’s too many. Nath’s got more than half the town.”
“This weakness of yours. This cowardice. Was it always there? Is that why you fled Godsfall?”
Rockjaw’s eyes flashed open and, for a moment, he looked like he wanted to tear Lux’s head off his skeletal shoulders. His jaw ground hard with a gnash of teeth. Then he hung his head and looked away as the heat dissipated quickly. “Fuck you. It’s the endless price I have to pay. And you don’t understand it at all. How could you? You weren’t there.”
“How do you know where I was?” Lux’s voice was strangely light.
“Then you didn’t see it. You didn’t see him fall.”
Green energy crackled as Lux’s temper flared. He reached out, bony fingers snatching the ork’s makeshift uniform. “I see more than your pathetic eyes would ever see! Right now, I see what lies in the fog. What truly lies in it. And I hear the voices in the darkness. Voices you can’t hear. You speak of prices to be paid, yet have no understanding of the price we paid when the Dark Lord fell. That you stood so close you could have inhaled his last breath means nothing! You understood nothing! You ran. Ran to the ends of the world. But you can’t escape your guilt, can you? So your mind and your spirit is sickened and you revel in your self-pity. Whether you heal or not, that’s your choice. For now, right now, I will have you walk the line. I will have you stand, a pale mirror of what you were. An
d when I’m done with you, you can curl up in a ditch and die for all I care. Until that moment, don’t you ever think to know what I have seen.”
“You’re wrong, you know. We’ll all die today.” The ork’s voice was stubborn, but he stood a little straighter, his shoulders rolling in their sockets as he stretched the muscle. “All of us.”
“Are you afraid of death?”
“No. Not anymore.”
“Then prove it. Stand, Rockjaw of Dragonclaw. Stand and face the Madman’s wrath.”
“You’re insane. More insane than he is.” The ork looked down to where the elf was already scanning the streets for signs of the enemies Lux had hinted at. “What about you, Nysta? Do you believe in all this shit he’s saying?”
“Ain’t sure just yet.” The elf shrugged. “But I reckon it sounds like we’ve all been reading from the diary of a Madman.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Nysta swept under the raider’s grinning slash, his shortsword cutting the air above her head with a sharp snarl. A Flaw in the Glass aimed lower, driving deep into the man’s belly. The venomous glow bubbled inside his flesh as the wickedly curved blade did its work, slicing through guts in search of organs.
Blood erupted hot across her fist wrapped around the enchanted blade’s handle and, for a change, it wasn’t hers. Restricted in movement, the elf had taken more cuts than usual as Nath’s raiders proved themselves fast if not skilled.
She whipped the blade free, spinning on her heel in search of a fresh kill.
Found Rockjaw standing with his back to her. The last of the raiders lifted aloft in one hand, head fully-enveloped by a giant green fist. He smashed the raider into the closest wall, a wet crunch signalling the end of the raider’s life. A life whose legacy was a smear of blood and brain down the wall of a small hut the raiders had been looting.
As the ork turned, his expression was fierce but his eyes were glassy with sorrow. He’d known these people. Both the raiders in grey and the young family they’d murdered and dumped in the street.
Known their names. Their life stories. In the past, he’d spoken a few times to the slightly overweight raider whose pulverised head was still squeezed inside his fist.