by Lucas Thorn
Power which made her teeth buzz.
“Looks enchanted to fuck,” she growled.
“Oh, it is,” the blind deathpriest said, sounding vaguely amused as she moved forward to begin cutting him free. “It is indeed.”
Each saw against the thick leather made the pain shoot up her arms, but she didn’t hesitate.
She had a feeling she’d need his magic.
And knew he had a better idea of what was happening in the Crossbones than he was letting on.
“You weren’t surprised,” she said as she worked. “When we were jumped. You didn’t even fight. You could have, though. I don’t think you’re as useless as you’re pretending to be.”
He pursed his paper lips, considering what to share.
Then turned his face toward her, the dark pits of his sightless eyes boring into her. “Have you heard the story of how Gaket managed to kill the last of the High Kings? The true story?”
The elf froze as the name flickered inside her skull. It rode in on echoes of memory.
Black tendrils, drilling into her arm.
Talek’s Cage. Opening. The crisp frozen darkness.
Worms. In her blood. In her muscle. Her bone.
Grimacing, the elf spoke through her teeth. “I weren’t ever interested in stories,” she said. “Can’t buy food with them.”
“Ah, yes. You lived on the streets of Lostlight, didn’t you? Crawling alone in the dark alleys. A lost orphan child.” He said it without pity. Just stated it as fact. “Gaket was a singular creature. Born into darkness and given gifts by Veil. Gifts neither Rule nor Grim could understand, I think. Terrible gifts. One of which allowed him to enter where no other could. But the High King’s palace was a maze of enchantments and walled by magic woven by Rule. Even Gaket couldn’t ride his shadows inside. His minions couldn’t fight within the walls. They thought he was mad, then, when he tried. Thought he was pitiful when they broke him down in the courtyard. Defeated and blunted of his power, Gaket knelt. Head bowed, he allowed them to chain him. They put a collar around his neck. Dragged him through the streets like a trophy. The people threw refuse at him. Showered him in shit and trash. Spat on him. He stumbled, weak and broken. Until he couldn’t walk anymore. They couldn’t move him. So, eager for his moment of triumph, the High King emerged from his palace. And it was there, away from the magical protections placed by the Lord of Light, that Gaket killed him. And his guard. And all the people of his city. His darklings tore the bones from the very earth and washed them in blood. And then, with a rustle of leaves, he was gone. Back into the shadows. Leaving nothing of the city but ruin.”
Nysta finished sawing the leather straps. Watched as he rubbed at his wrists. Said; “If you figured to do the same, you ain’t doing it right. Only bones I see are yours.”
“I didn’t come here for death,” he said. “Not yet. I came for information. Information known only by Nath. I have what I want. We can leave now.”
Choking on a bitter laugh, the elf tossed him his clothes and turned away. Headed for the door with brittle steps. “You want out of here? Figure you’ll need to work for it.”
“More than you know. And we have little time. One of Rule’s mages approaches the Crossbones. And if the creature which protects these waters is not appeased soon, they will bury us here.”
“You can’t fight a mage?”
“He has an advantage over me in that he can see. Perhaps if you pluck out his eyes…”
“I’m tempted.”
“And I’m ready.” He swung his cloak around himself, pulling the hood over his head. Reached for his staff and muttered a few words of power which sent the dancing runes sinking back into the wood. “Tell Rockjaw to lead us to the temple now.”
The elf frowned. “If you wanted to fight Nath, we could’ve fought him back there.” She held up her ruined hands before dropping them as she remembered his lack of sight. “Would’ve saved me a lot of pain.”
“Yes, your hands. But you heal quickly, Nysta. You have a gift. It will ensure this.”
“Right now, you’ve got a quicker chance of getting your eyesight back,” she growled, trying not to let the bitterness creep too far into her voice. “I ain’t healing as fast as you think. But I figure I’ll survive if we can get off this fucking island and away from draug. Question I need an answer to right now, though, was it worth it? Was it worth having that fucker break my hand?”
“I told you. There were things I needed to know.” He lowered his voice. “One thing you will learn, Nysta, is the Fnordic Lands is fractured. It is breaking. The emperor has retreated into his palace and refuses to leave. Doom’s Reach is the entirety of his empire, but he is too blind to see it. When the Dark Lord fell, Rule took more than his life. Why else do you think the Lord of Light has left us alone so long? He knows we are broken without the Dark Lord’s fist around our throats we continue to fall apart. Already the orks begin to recall the glories of their tribal ways. Men whose blood holds the memory of shattered kingdoms now seek thrones on which to sit. The mages in their tower have flung wide their windows. Their gazes stretch across the horizon, and all they see they lust to control. One spark, Nysta. One spark is all it will take and the Fnordic Lands will be plunged into a time of death and chaos like you cannot believe. One spark. You’ve seen it happen here. Imagine this on a greater scale. So, I needed to know how far they’ve penetrated. Was Nath the first of his kind? Or the latest? Our god may lay in the bowels of this world, but his deathpriests will work to protect his empire. For this, I will walk, like Gaket, into the arms of my enemy a thousand times over. And I will let them think me broken. And every time I will rise. Rise and kill them all.”
“He would’ve talked,” she said, irritated by how empty those words sounded. How petulant. “I could’ve made him tell you anything you’d want.”
“It’s been my experience that men are more open when they think you are broken and they have power over you.” He showed a cynical grin, the dark pits of his blackened eye sockets seeming to hum with mirth. “Many fools have mistaken blindness for helplessness. But, in answer, it was worth it. I swear this to you. You may not believe me, but I want you to survive this, Nysta. I can’t, however, guarantee a lack of scars.”
She studied his expression as it grew more intense, accepting the truth to his words. Let the growl through tight lips as she turned away. “Fine.” She rolled her shoulders to loosen the tightness gripping her bones. “We’ll go to your temple. We’ll find this Ihan feller. If he’s still alive. Find your Madman and his draug, maybe. Do what you need to do to Nath. Then I’ll kill Maks. And if it works out as simple as that, then it’ll be a great fucking day.”
“Such hopefulness.” Smile creased dry skin. “That’s the spirit. If it makes a difference, I’m sorry for your hands.”
“Well, they’re looking like the right kind to take to a temple,” she said. Turned her bound fists, feeling the pain slither up her wrists like hungry snakes. “The holey kind.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It was the sound of Nearne’s scream which made the elf power back down the stairs four at a time before landing hard and sprinting into the courtyard. Squinted through a weave of smoke from a torch on the wall and ducked into the open ground to find Rockjaw fending off a pack of five grey-cloaked men.
The young girls were close, back-to-back. Nearne hefted a small sword, while Mija held a round shield. Held it like she had been taught to use it, but not well. It was too low. Held out too far from her body.
Grey raiders either side of the girls moved in with equal menace, faces gleaming in the firelight. Grins wide and savage. Sweat cruising down bristled jaws.
They saw easy meat.
Sweet pickings.
And with those thoughts clear in their heads, the Shadowed Halls opened with a howl as the elf charged through the mud and showed them the bleak embrace of death. The first fell without even knowing what had torn his lower back open to rip into his organs. Didn’
t even feel the clinging tentacles of the black enchantment which whipped upward and drunk deeply from the well of his heart.
Deep but quick as the elf wrenched the reluctant blade free and sprang across Mija’s shield to land catlike in front of the Grey Jacket already moving to counter her.
He swung his heavy sword.
A Flaw in the Glass bit into his knee, curved tip driving hard. Like a nail, it punched through.
Pain.
He knew pain in a manner more intimate than a lover’s kiss. So intimate every cell in his body popped with the electric taste of it and his scream echoed through the fortress.
Mija dropped her shield and jammed her fists against her ears, her own scream trying to drown out the agonised cries.
Cries made more agonised as the elf drove upward, jerking the blade free with a brutal crunch as the joint shattered. He staggered, trying to balance on his uninjured knee, but fell anyway. Swung desperately at her head.
Missed by a hair, the blade’s edge singing as it whistled past.
A hair was too much.
But the threat of his blade didn’t even slow her down as she came in with both knives already slick with blood.
Sheathed them in his chest. Twisted her forearms to lever the blades, cracking ribs open and splintering his heart.
Slit lungs choked blood into his mouth.
On his back, eyes wide to the stars, the Grey Jacket’s eyes gave one last coherent plea to hers. Violet eyes. The eyes of an elf.
Her kind.
He was her kind.
His ruined ears, cut to resemble a human’s. Neatly sliced. A curve of deception.
“Fuck you,” she hissed. Yanked both blades free of his chest and plunged them into his eyes to destroy the last ties they might have shared. “Fuck you and your god.”
Then she was off, wheeling in the mud. Violet eyes seeking violence. More violence. The promise of it clung to her tongue like iron. Vibrated between her teeth. Dark worms slithered through muscle and meat, plucking at her tendons. Strength, she realised. They were trying to give her strength.
Add to that, the pain in her arms was lessened as the knives had impacted with flesh. With bone.
The grin on her face was wild as she saw two more charging through the gates.
Rockjaw had whittled his five down to two.
He bled from a number of cuts, but his massive arms continued to move with the speed and efficiency of a man who’d spent years honing himself in the emperor’s army.
So she went for the gates.
Teeth bared, she tumbled into them. A mess of steel and leather. Used the leather bracer on her right arm to deflect the first sword. It skated up the wyrmskin’s length and nicked her shoulder. Not deep enough to cause more than a spark of pain.
And where his strike had failed, hers succeeded. Queen of Hearts drove into his forearm, plunging right through to the hilt. The black tentacles exploded in a rush of clinging vines, clawing and raking at his flesh. Horrified, he let out a yelp and tried to leap back.
Which only made her grin more cruel as she used his momentum to bring the blade tearing back through his arm toward her so it neatly tore his limb open in two flaps. Blood cascaded. The two halves of his arm hung from his elbow like twin ribbons.
Two snakes without jaws.
Boneless and limp.
He started to scream.
She didn’t finish him. Didn’t have time. Was busy dodging his companion’s axe.
Twirling with dreadful grace, she slashed at his belly. A Flaw in the Glass, though it howled to taste his flesh, was turned by a thick layer of chainmail beneath the thick grey tunic. Wounded grip didn’t have the strength to punch it through.
“Tainted,” he heaved through clenched teeth. “Fuck what Nath wants. I’ll kill you right here and send your soul to Hell.”
Slowly, the elf lifted herself from her crouch.
Arms hung loose at her side. Cocked her head. “That chainmail of yours. It cover your back as well as your belly?”
“Huh?”
“You heard me.”
He slapped his chest. “Come find out.”
“Neck, then,” she said, gaze drilling into his. “Hard as you can. Point first.”
“What the-”
And died as Nearne plunged My Ears into his neck. She was small. But elfs were stronger than humans, even ones whose ears had been cut. So she had the strength to drive the knife right through bone. Had enough power that it emerged an inch or so through the front of his throat, choking him on it.
As he fell, his arms flailed wildly, searching for the source of his death.
His fingers brushed the sharp edge of the blade, but his brain never knew what it was.
Nearne, tears clawing from her eyes. Watched him die. Started to look away.
“Don’t,” the elf growled. “Keep watching.”
He writhed, body responding to its own chaotic messages. Unable to connect to the brain which endured an agonised anarchy of its own. His eyes bulged.
Mouth opened and ejected a stream of red.
Rockjaw stepped up. Looked down at the twitching body with disgust.
Lifted his axe and brought it down, severing the head clean and ending its dying for good.
Glanced from the horrified young girl to the elf. “That supposed to teach her anything?”
“Yeah.” The elf spat into the mud beside the dead Grey Jacket. “They ain’t special. They die just like us.”
“Reckon she knew that already.” He shook his head at her, lips curled in distaste. “No matter how much you think she’s like you, she ain’t. She ain’t cruel.”
The elf shrugged, dismissing his insight. “We’re all cruel, feller. Or we wouldn’t be here.”
Lux moved smoothly through the clutter of corpses. The long staff in his fingers tapped at the ground in front of him, nudging bodies which he eased around. He continued quickly toward the gate, leaving deep impressions in the mud. “Come,” he said. “Rockjaw, lead us to the temple. Nath and his fool army are waking something which should never be woken.”
“Waking?” The ork followed, but his expression was suddenly wary. “What do you mean by that? Hey, deathpriest. Answer me. What do you mean?”
“Madness,” Lux said. “Is just a dream. And that dream is ending.”
They travelled quickly up the crooked path. Crude steps carved into mud. Reinforced with wooden planks or rugged stones. A few stakes hammered here and there to help make the climb easier.
Didn’t help much, the elf thought.
Rockjaw walked up front with the deathpriest. The big ork rolled his shoulders often as though clearing knots which had accumulated there. Or stretching muscle he hadn’t used in a long time.
The two young girls trudged next. Weary and psychologically beaten down. Hands clasped together, they spoke between heavy sucks of air.
Mija cried often. Talked about her father.
When she looked back, her eyes flashed toward the elf but there was less venom than there had been when they were in the town. Now there was resignation. And something else. Something like grudging respect.
Nysta nursed her hands, keeping a few steps behind the girls. Used her teeth to tighten the makeshift bandages keeping her knives fisted within broken hands. Bandages made from the rags of Saja’s clothing.
Saja.
At thought of the young raider, the elf remembered not all the blood staining the rags was her own. Or the blood of her enemies. Imagined, as she lowered her arms again, she could smell Saja’s sweat.
Hear her voice.
“You killed Boga, Saja,” the elf murmured. “Just one hit. That’s all you needed.”
Nearne twisted to look at her. Sweat beaded her brow, glinting in the moonlight. “Nysta? Did you say something?”
“Nothing. Just thinking aloud is all.”
Unconsciously, the young girl reached up to where her ears had been cut, and that simple action made the elf’s eyes narrow.<
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“It’s not her fault,” Mija said. Fire in her voice. It flashed across her tongue as she caught the elf’s scowl and gave it meaning.
“I know.”
“Then why look at her like that? Why look at her like there’s something wrong with her?”
Nearne squeezed the girl’s hand tighter. “Mija-”
“No, Nearne. You shouldn’t feel guilty. It’s not your fault!”
“Ain’t looking at her like anything,” the elf said before Nearne could speak. “Thinking of the bastards who cut her is all. Reckon they took more than just flesh. Took a part of who she was. And not just from her. Took it from a lot of others, too, I’m guessing. And there ain’t no reason for it. No reason I can see. Just some bullshit belief spat on them by their wretched god. Pisses me off is all.”
It was Mija’s turn to feel the heat of the elf’s words, and she took it with a cold look. Then nodded. “They did it to her. Did she tell you who held the knife?”
“Mija, please.” The other girl’s eyes were wide. Bright and afraid.
“It was Nath,” Mija hissed. “Nath did it. Nath cut off Nearne’s ears and made her burn them. That’s what they do. They burn their ears. And then they take the ashes and give them to Rule. Because Rule likes to have the ashes.”
The rage settled in her belly. An icy ball turning silently in her dark core. Sharp at the edges. Slicing through her guts. She could feel it. So cold and frigid. Scraping her spine as it grew. Blossomed.
But before she could speak, Rockjaw grabbed the deathpriest and ducked down. Motioned for them to do the same.
Still riding her anger, the elf crept past the two girls. Ignored their puzzled looks and settled down beside the ork. Let her gaze drift through the midnight shadows and the fractured light dancing between the ferns which brushed the trunks of softly swaying trees.
Smell of pine.
Taste of something earthy in the air.
And the coppery tang of violence in the back of her throat. Not violence which had passed. But violence which would soon cause a cascade of light and sound to disturb the peaceful lassitude of the forest.
“There’s two guards,” Rockjaw said. “Up ahead. I can take them, but I ain’t sure who else is about. Now, Nath’s got better than a couple of dozen raiders-”