by Lucas Thorn
Nysta shrugged. “Ain’t feeling like that kind of knight.”
He stared hard at her, trying to piece together what he knew about her from their time on board the Ox. And what he knew of the Jukkala. To guess her intentions. Again found himself checking the pile of knives. And scowled even harder when he looked up to find her grinning back at him as she read his thoughts.
“Fuck,” he snarled. “Get her the fuck up to Nath. And this lot, too. I’ll feel better when we’ve got them locked away. Not much. But better.”
As they started to push her along, the elf suddenly dug her heels in as another thought occurred to her. “Hey, Maks?”
“What?”
“Saja. You kill her?” Then pushed the question in like a dagger. “Like you killed Halvir? You do it? You kill the last of your crew?”
His cheeks darkened and he tightened his mouth into a stretched line. Scratched at his strapped thigh as though the wound itched with guilt. But his glittering eye kept her gaze with a cold defiant stare.
“You know, I didn’t figure you got close to anyone while you were on the Ox. You just tucked yourself away and kept to yourself. Threw up most of the time. And I don’t think you gave Saja two fucking words for most of the journey. So, I don’t get why you’d give a shit what happened to her. Was Willem wrong? Is there a real person inside that Tainted shell of yours?”
“She saved my life,” the elf said. “Reckon she saved all of us at least once. Even you.”
“And, for that, I gave her a chance.” He motioned for a few of the raiders to take Lux. Finally looked away from her. “Gave her a chance to serve the Light. She made her choice.”
“Blasphemy,” Lux said through his teeth. Teeth which clicked sharply.
Maks hit him.
Back of his fist smashed into the blind deathpriest’s cheek. “How dare you speak of blasphemy! You’re more Tainted than she is! Look at you. Bastard shit of the Dark Lord’s necromancy.”
“Necromancy?” Lux sneered, unconcerned by the hit to his face. Hadn’t even flinched. “Fool.”
Maks quivered, impatience slipping between his fingers. “Get them out of here. Move it!”
As she was led past the ork, she caught Nearne’s stare.
A vacant stare, empty of emotion. Empty of everything as she stood beside her mother. The girl didn’t even spare a glance as one of the raiders knelt to pick up Mija. Just kept her head straight. Eyes firmly fixed on the elf.
As though her impassive gaze was a message she was meant to understand.
Grunting, the elf looked away.
Ahead, the blind deathpriest walked as though he was leading the way.
At first they took his staff from him. But then after he’d fallen over a few times and acidly pointed out he was blind, they let him have it back. And though they listened when he told them he couldn’t exactly cast if he didn’t know where they were, she doubted they believed him any more than she did.
The stubbled road moved through the rear of the town like a snake grinding upward. Creeping across the steep face of a craggy hill, it led through pockets of spruce and fern. Mostly brushed free of general debris, it showed signs of recent neglect and so became slippery the further they climbed.
Through the twists and turns her guards never once faltered in their attention. She was never comfortable. Never felt the grip on her arms lessen. Often felt the spear’s sharp tip prod into her spine. Her attempts to spread fear like cancer through the group of raiders had succeeded to the point of making them paranoid, and she cursed herself for her moment of flippancy.
Silence, she thought, might have served her better.
It was too late for regrets. Too late to wonder if she should have trusted the rage which had often helped her fight her way free at times she’d lost hope. Instead, she simply followed their direction and stayed ready for a moment.
Any moment. When she could shrug herself free. Fight her way into the trees, maybe.
All she needed was for her two guards to be forced by the narrow path to angle back a little. Maybe loosen their grip. Something different.
But the path offered no such luck. Instead it worked to wriggle fear into her own heart as the slow climb grew torturous with anticipation. Was she being led to her death? Or worse? What waited for her in the squat little fort hunched over itself up ahead?
Certainly no possibility of rescue. The townsfolk had been mostly slaughtered by draug and those who were left had been taken by Nath’s raiders. Grey Jackets, she reminded herself. Leiberslanders. Her hated enemy.
She clenched her teeth together, resenting the touch of the guards on her arms.
The feel of their eyes drifting toward her. They stared at her ears, a mix of hate and disgust. A feeling she returned in equal measure.
Behind them, Dalle and Nearne spoke in hushed tones. Loud enough for Nysta’s ears to catch most of what they were saying.
The girl told a story of being stranded in the town when the draug hit. Of being lost and afraid. Unable to find her way, she’d gone to her friend’s house in hope of shelter. Had found it.
Dalle quizzed the girl’s choice. There were other places she should have gone.
Places they’d agreed to meet.
Safehouses.
But the draug had scared her out of her mind. She’d run without thinking. The yellow fog, Nearne argued, had affected her.
“It’s Tainted,” she said. “I could feel it. I didn’t want it to touch me. To infect me. I want to be clean. For the Lord of Light. I had to stay clean.”
She explained how, while hiding in the ruins of Mija’s house, Rockjaw had come along. How she’d seen him coming down the street.
Then she lied.
She said Mija’s father had called to the ork even though she’d begged him not to. Begged the old man to let the ork pass.
But Torlik had refused to listen. He’d called Rockjaw’s name, so Nearne was forced to play the part of innocent girl again. She’d been sickened by him. Repulsed. And even more revolted to see the elf with him.
She couldn’t stand to look at Nysta. Elf ears made her feel sick.
And Nysta frowned.
Why lie about calling to Rockjaw?
She pulled her thoughts together, trying to prise the thin ends of the mental knot apart. There was something she was missing.
Something important. She could feel it. It hovered like unsaid words on the tip of her tongue, brushing against her lips. Humming a childhood tune of puzzled acronyms.
“What did she say to you?” Dalle tried to keep her voice low. Hushed.
“Nothing.” Then urgently. “Really. She didn’t speak until Maks called her down. Look at her. She’s so scary. Her ears…”
“Yes, yes. She’s more Tainted than most.” Satisfaction bled into Dalle’s words. “But the Lord of Light has spoken. He was right here, in the fort. He spoke to Nath. I heard him, Nearne. Heard his voice. He said wants her alive. We’re going to send her to him and he’ll reward us. Reward us all.”
“Really? He truly spoke to Nath?” Awe and shock moved in equal measure between the girl’s breaths.
“I was there. I saw it. I saw him. The Lord of Light.” And the elf could feel the woman’s eyes on her. Piercing her back with ethereal daggers. “She’s a monster, Nearne. Rule told us everything about her. Everything. She’s killed more of us than you know. Do you remember General Storr? And his son?”
“We went to his house. He showed me his collection. I couldn’t touch anything, though, because they were magic.”
“That’s right. He was a scholar. A good man. An honourable man. Well, look at her. She murdered him. With her knives, she assassinated him just as he was about to save the Deadlands from an army of goblins. A brutal way to die. And then, because she lives to kill, she murdered Alek. Cut him down like a dog.”
“You liked Alek. You said he was nice.”
“Yes,” Dalle said, distracted by memory. “Yes, I did. I think he liked me,
too. Maybe, if things had been different… But she killed him. Horribly. And killed her brother, too, because he was trying to escape to the Light. Her own kin! That’s how far she’ll go. How evil she is to the core. So, don’t pity her. You remember everything the Oakheart taught you. You remember what you learned. What you were told. And know it for truth. I know you liked Rockjaw. And you found it hard to watch him for Nath. Don’t try to hide that much from me. But he’s Tainted, Nearne. You have to remember that. He’s not like us. He’s different. His blood is unclean, and evil lives inside him. It lives inside them all.”
“I saw the evil they can do when she killed Pope.” The young girl’s voice trembled and she sounded younger than before. More vulnerable. “He gave me a ribbon, once. It was blue. With a red stripe. I left it at home. I won’t find it again, will I?”
Dalle reached out and took her daughter’s hand. “Pope was a good man. Don’t forget him.”
“Yes,” Nearne said. “He was. He was good to me. And I won’t forget, ma. And I won’t forget anything the Oakheart taught me. I studied hard.”
“Good.” Calm. “When we get to the fort, I’ll ask Nath to let you have the honour of taking the girl’s life. She means nothing to Rule. Nothing at all. There’s a lesson yet for you to learn from this. You can’t trust any of them, Nearne. And never make the mistake of making friends with the Tainted. Trust only those of us who’ve made the sacrifice. Trust only the Accepted. You’re still young, and I know it’s hard for you sometimes. But you’ll learn. And I’ll be with you so it gets done right. I’ll be there beside you. Remember, if things were different, it would be her standing over you with a blade. Show no mercy. Be swift and thankful, because today isn’t our day to die. It’s theirs. Rule has protected us. We owe him everything. Our lives. Our souls. Our loyalty. You’ve done well since we came here. I’m proud of you. I really am. You worked hard, and I know it wasn’t easy for you.”
“I didn’t want to disappoint you, ma.”
“I know.” The woman sighed. “I know. And I didn’t choose Maks for you, Nearne. I need you to know that. It was Nath’s choice. And it’s better than others he could have made. Maybe one day, you’ll understand that. But, for now, you’re still just a Watcher. When this is over, I’ll send word home. I’m going to ask they raise you to Mover. You’ve proven yourself beyond your age. If you can take care of the girl out here in the field, they won’t have any choice. They’ll have to raise you.”
“I understand.” Steel entered the girl’s voice like a sword into a scabbard. “And I’m not afraid. I’ll do what needs to be done.”
The elf felt a shiver at the coldness in the young girl’s tone.
Grey Jacket spies trained hard, sometimes managing to infiltrate deep into Lostlight’s society. Efficient and with targeted goals, they were masters of deception and sabotage. They rivalled the Jukkala’Jadean in stealth and cunning. So much so that some of the more bitter Jukkala had taken to calling the spies foundlings, a term used to describe unwanted children.
A term Nysta obviously despised and refused to use herself.
During one long winter, a group of spies burned down several grain stores. King Jutta was forced to announce rations for the rest of the winter. An unpopular but necessary choice.
But the spies weren’t done. They worked to spread rumours of the King’s storehouses being full and the meals of the rich being exempted from the rationing.
Which was true.
But the speed with which they spread those rumours had been frightening. Nysta had gone without sleep for more than a week as she worked to root out as many sources as she could. The Jukkala blanketed the town in blood, acting with a ruthlessness which left Lostlight reeling as the tortured bodies of dead Leiberslanders were strung up for all to see.
She’d spoken to a few of them. Listened to their defiance. Their prayers.
And, finally, their screams.
But it wasn’t this memory which invited the elf’s shiver. It was instead the manner in which Dalle spoke and the way Nearne responded. Teacher and student in an art almost as dark as those Nysta had learned.
She heard the voice of old teachers in her own head. Teachers who’d shown her how to kill quickly. How to kill brutally. How to kill slowly. Heard those frozen voices echoed in Dalle’s tone.
And, for a moment, she felt oddly connected to Nearne. As though they shared a special tie which couldn’t be put into words. Couldn’t be explained.
Or, she thought with a tightening of her eyes, accepted.
Because she was Jukkala. And these were Leiberslander spies. Foundlings. They deserved a death as bloody and painful as she could inflict.
Glancing over her shoulder, the elf’s eyes met Dalle’s.
The older spy looked ready to spit venom. “What are you grinning at, you Tainted cow?”
Nysta shook her head as one of the guards pushed her roughly, forcing her to look ahead. Said nothing.
“You see?” Dalle snarled at Nearne. “You see that look in her eyes? She’s evil. They all are. Their beliefs are twisted and insane.”
“We’re more like each other than you think,” Nysta said over her shoulder, ignoring the curt guard as he snapped at her to shut her mouth. Aimed her words not at Dalle, but the younger girl.
“You don’t know anything about us,” Dalle hissed.
“I reckon I know you enough to guess we share a bond, lady,” the elf said, swirling the words round her mouth like a bitter treat. Enjoyed the sound of Dalle’s breath as it was sucked in hard. “In that we both mean to die another day. But you should know that before this is over, I’ll be the one to live and let die.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Nath waited for them in the courtyard.
The small fortress could hardly be described as such. The walls were low. Low enough the elf thought she could pretty much leap from the ground onto the heavy stone ramparts without any trouble. The question of where she’d go from there was the only thing stopping her from trying. That and the spears still pushing into her shoulders.
There were two stone buildings. One used as a guardhouse close to the gates. The other, the main house, had two levels, but wasn’t much to look at. Might have a few rooms on either level, but they’d be small. Some of the Grey Jacket raiders had pitched makeshift tents against the inner wall.
Outside the gates, a pyre was being built for a small heap of crumpled bodies. Bodies which had been stripped of their armour. The former guards, she figured. The loyal ones.
Rockjaw stumbled in front. The big ork had woken, but hadn’t said a word. Refused to look at Dalle, but the one time the elf had caught his red eyes she saw in them a sorrow which made her quickly look away.
Betrayal had a way of breaking a heart with awful finality.
A few chickens roamed the courtyard’s muddy ground, at ease with the hustling raiders who seemed to be preparing for something. They were cleaning weapons and stocking packs. A few looked up as she was pushed through the gates and tossed at Nath’s feet.
The looks on their faces were identical.
Resentment.
Disgust.
And, something else. Guilt? That didn’t make sense, she thought.
Nursing her useless hand, she looked up and found guilt wasn’t present on the face of the old man glaring down at her. Not even a smudge of it.
Instead, his hawkish features studied her with undisguised and total hatred. It oozed from his pores and made his lip twitch. If he’d had a sword in his hand, she had no doubt he’d use it.
She didn’t flinch. Refused to. Instead, she stared right at him with an impassive and unblinking stare. Studied him with deliberate casual ease. As though it was he, and not her, who was the prisoner.
The dry skin. Pale green eyes. Hair which had once been black was now mostly grey. Cut short. A deep scar raking across the bridge of his nose. Another down his forearm which showed through the grey shirt’s rolled-up sleeves. Gnarled hands at the ends
showed fingers too swollen with age to carry a weapon ever again.
Thin and rangy, he looked like he might fall over if the wind blew too hard.
A few teeth missing. The others buckled and bent.
But despite his frail and grizzled appearance, the old man possessed an internal fire she recognised. The fire of a priest. One who keenly felt that invisible chain binding him to his god and would do anything to prove his devotion.
The black worms inside her skin burrowed deep. They struggled inside her wounded hand. Even through the numbness they’d inflicted, she could feel them frantically worrying at the flesh. Could feel them also squirreling across her shoulders. And the buzzing gave her an odd sense of comfort.
Of defiance.
So, pulling her mouth into a crooked grin, she pushed herself to her feet.
“I don’t kneel for assholes,” she said.
His cheeks mottled red with anger, but he didn’t shout. His words were soft. Each one uttered with deliberate clarity. “There are many lessons for you yet to learn, Tainted. And you will learn them all before you are presented to the Lord of Light. First, you will learn to hold your tongue. You will learn to bow your head and hide your ears in shame. And then you will learn to kneel when you are told.”
“Yeah?” She looked around, dragging her eyes over the men and their glittering array of weapons. Weapons she wished she could use right now. Rolled her shoulders at the familiar feel of fear rolling its icy orb in her guts. Fear she wasn’t afraid of, because that fear would serve her in the end. Chose to match his deliberate tone. “Fuck you.”
“You will learn!” His hand lashed out, and she took the blow. Kept her neck rigid so she didn’t even sway when it landed. Knew it hurt his hand. Knew it and felt a thrill of satisfaction as he dropped his arm to his side and worked his knuckles in regret.
She showed her teeth and spat at his feet. “I ain’t the learning type. Prefer to teach.”