Revenge Of The Elf (Book 1)

Revenge Of The Elf (Book 1) Page 15

by Lucas Thorn

  “Huh?”

  “You know what it means?”

  “Don’t think so,” he said thoughtfully. “Sounds like something the Dark Lord might’ve said. When he was pissed. Grim ranted a lot of shit when he was drunk. Deathpriests recorded it all. I used to sneak into the old records and read them. You know, just for a laugh? One time, he ran through the streets of Mistfall, telling everyone that the fort at Doom Forge was a worm farm. That the mage there was collecting worms from the bodies of heroes he’d killed. I mean, really. Worms? And another time, he pulled a kraken out of its cavern, dumped it on the beach near Icespring and demanded someone make it into some kind of fucking fried noodle thing. The poor bastard with that job went mad trying. And did I mention what he said about the Emperor’s daughter? It’s hardly repeatable in polite company, but many a man has looked at her and wondered if it was true before wrestling his raging hard-on back into his pants in case she noticed and had one of her guards cut it off. You think you’re tough, Nysta? Well. You’re nothing compared to Asa. That woman’s a total fucking bitch. But if you believe Grim, she might be worth knowing…”

  “I had to fucking ask,” she muttered as the warlock leered into the fire. “Fatman? How many of them are there?”

  “How many? Fuck. How should I know? Dozen? Twenty. Fucking hundred and twenty. I don’t know. They all look the same. All sound the same. All creep around like fucking ants, crawling all over everything and shit. Spikewrist’s now a fucking meatshop for them. An evil place. All I know is, no matter where you go, there they are.”

  “Sounds more like a holy shrine than a butcher’s lair,” the elf said with a sardonic grin.

  “You’ve got a strange mind,” he said quietly.

  “Thinks she’s funny sometimes,” the warlock offered.

  “Don’t sound funny,” the fat man’s eyes drifted over the jutting handles pressing against her body. “Don’t look very fucking funny, neither. I don’t see much to laugh at, Long-ear. That’s my home back there. Some good friends of mine just got fucking eaten by fuck knows what. Be obliged if you didn’t make a joke of it. They was good people, mostly.”

  “You might be right,” the elf said, spitting out through the corner of her mouth. She spared him a mirthless smile. “Could be it’s a diabolic time to be playing games. You see the bastard in charge again, fatman? After he went in?”

  “Not so much. He passed through the street like a ghost sometimes, but you never really saw him straight up. Those things, though. They followed him like he was a god and he hardly even noticed they were there. Reminded me of cows following a bull, you know?”

  “I look like someone who knows about cows?”

  “Won’t tell you what I think you look like.”

  “Wise choice,” Chukshene said.

  “I ain’t stupid. But, you know, I can’t stop thinking about his eyes when he was at the gate. There was something about them. Something old. And alien. I don’t know. Like he knew too much about the world. If I ever saw him again, I’d run so fast you wouldn’t see me for dust. But his eyes. They’d follow me, I know. I won’t ever stop dreaming about them now. It’s like he knew what I was thinking. But there was something else. Something I can’t put into words,” the fat man’s face was taut and even the sweat glistening on his cheeks looked frozen in rising horror. “Stay away from that town, Long-ear. Turn around. These fellers of yours? They ain’t worth what you’ll find in there. I don’t like you, Long-ear. Ain’t ever gonna like you no matter what excuses your spellslinger makes for you being a bitch. But I wouldn’t wish what’ll happen to you if you go in there on anybody. Whatever he is, demon or not, that evil son of a bitch doesn’t need prodding. Leave him be. He’s one bull who won’t let his herd go around you. They’ll roll right over you. Eat you alive.”

  The warlock looked impressed. “Well, I’m fucked if I’ve ever heard anything like it. And I’ve heard a lot. If I hadn’t seen them with my own eyes, I’d say you were full of shit. Or been drinking too much. Long-ear?”

  She nodded in agreement. “Man worked with herds, though.”

  “So?”

  “Guess he’d know a few things about canny bulls.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  She watched the fat man nibble unconsciously on some of the dried meat Chukshene had given him. Nothing he’d said about the town had changed her mind about going in. She had to. Even with her back to it, the town tugged at her as though promising the Bloody Nine holed up inside.

  And there was something else, too.

  The box in her pocket was getting colder.

  The freeze of it threatened to burn her fingers and her palm was numb up to her wrist. Her head was beginning to ache every time she thought about pulling it out and looking at it. Seeing if she could open it, maybe. Though she wanted to keep it hidden, she struggled against her impulse.

  Talek had all sorts of rules about the box.

  Rules he’d tried to drum into her. Had she been more interested in it then, maybe she would have remembered them.

  One of the most important ones, she remembered, was keeping it hidden. And the other one. The one he repeated over and over whenever he was moving it from one hiding place to another.

  “Don’t touch it,” he’d said.

  She started as his voice sounded strongly in her ears. He’d always worn gloves when handling it. The cold bit into her skin like snow-covered fangs.

  Grunting, she slid her hand reluctantly from her pocket. Her ears still rang with the fading echo of her husband’s voice. It was a smooth voice. Gentle.

  A voice she’d loved to listen to, though she’d never told him.

  And now never would.

  Whether it was the sudden scowl springing to her face, or the snap of her spit splashing into the fire, the fat man backed away fearfully and looked ready to run. “I don’t know what else to tell you,” he whined. “The town is cursed. What more do you want to know?”

  “I want to know what to expect,” she said through her teeth, feeling her rage boil to the surface. But under the slick coating of kerosene, the elf kept a tight grip of herself. She needed to push him. Needed to break him. Needed him to tell her everything. “I want to know what they’ll do when I go in. I want to know if there’s somewhere they don’t go. If there’s a place they gather more often than others. I want to know if there’s a back way in, or if I can scale the wall. I want to know what they fucking are. Because I want those bastards who rode out of my home with my husband’s blood on their fucking hands. And I want to bury my knife in their hearts! So right now, you bloated fat sack of shit, if they’re in there, then you’re the only one who might be able to tell me where the fuck they might be hiding.”

  The fat man cowered in fear as she towered over him, A Flaw in the Glass quivering in her fist. The venomous glow flared wicked in the firelight.

  “I don’t know! I don’t know! I ain’t seen them! I spent these last fucking days hiding in a fucking hole in a fucking wall until I couldn’t take it any more! Until I couldn’t get out of my head the sight of Alys bolting past me and out the door, screaming her tits off. She couldn’t take it either. I heard her scream. I fucking hear her screams all the time now! Oh, I tried not to care. Not to think about it. But I can’t. I knew her! And they ate her alive. Stripped the meat from her bones. And I let her run. I let her go out there. Let them eat her. I hid inside that hole and tried to shut my ears, but you can’t keep those kind of screams out of your ears. You just can’t. They go through the walls. Through the bones of your hands. I only ran because I couldn’t take it. Couldn’t live any more knowing I let her go out there alone. That I refused to go with her because I was afraid. Because I’m a fucking coward. You might think you’re tough. You might be right. But you can’t fight them. You can’t. There’s too many of them. And t
here’s nothing I can tell you to make it any easier. The Shadowed Halls have opened, Long-ear, and they opened right in the middle of that town. You can’t fight the Shadowed Halls. So, if that’s not enough for you, then you go ahead. You cut me down. You cut out my fucking yellow heart and you eat it if you want. I deserve it. Grim knows, I deserve it. I liked that woman. I really did. Loved her, maybe. But I let her go out there. Let her die in the worst fucking way. And I’ll always be wondering now, if I went with her, maybe we would’ve made it. Maybe…” he slumped, head falling onto his chest as snot and tears poured in equal measure down his chin. “I got nothing left for you, Long-ear. You see, I got nothing left for me.”

  Looming over him, the elf felt the weight behind her eyes which was born from the hate surging through her veins.

  Hate aimed, not at him, but the nine she trailed.

  She could feel every point of rage as they bloomed and though she knew the fat man had no ties to them, she wanted to vent it so desperately she could think of nothing except stabbing him over and over until his blood turned the snow pink around them.

  She could almost feel his blood pumping over her fist. Squeezing between her fingers.

  She caught her breath and her lips bared back into an animal grimace. “Fuck,” she snarled. Staggered back with a guttural shout of anger, slamming A Flaw in the Glass back into its sheath.

  She aimed a half-hearted kick at him, but missed, sending powdered snow spraying over his shaking torso.

  Flinching, the fat man cringed away from her and gave a whimper as he rolled into a sobbing ball.

  The lava flowing through the elf’s veins cooled abruptly.

  Her fingers touched one of the knots of rag in her hair. Felt the material coiling between her fingertips. Let her breath escape in ragged clouds of mist. Each breath pushed the hate further and further into her belly.

  Bottling it up.

  Tightening the lid.

  Her eyes burned.

  “Had enough?” the spellslinger asked quietly. “If you want to maybe poke him with some hot irons, I might have something in my pack you can borrow if you like.”

  Sucking air, the elf spun on him. He held her glare with a calm expression that irritated her even more. “Good idea,” she hissed. “Hand it over. I can shove it up your ass. Maybe it’d stop that shit coming from your mouth.”

  “All that rage. All that anger. You can hardly control yourself, can you?” he held out his hands to the fire and rubbed them together. Slowly. Aware she was on a razor’s edge, but determined to have his say. “My guess is you’re still in that alley, Nysta. A frightened little girl trying hard to convince herself she’s not afraid anymore. That she’s strong. In control. But no matter how many pretty little knives you cover yourself with, they’re not much for armour. Won’t stop the fear from taking over. All your hate. It’s not helping, is it? You want revenge? Sure. I get that. But even though you seem to have someone to chase, you can’t help looking around for more. Look at him. He’s a pathetic ant.”

  “Thanks,” the fat man sniffed, sitting up. He scrubbed at his eyes with his forearm.

  “You’re welcome,” the spellslinger grinned, his eyes still on the elf. “And there you are, Nysta. Bullying him. What for? For information you already know. The town’s full of assholes who eat people. Wow. Big news. We got that just spending five seconds at the fucking gate. And they’re hungry. Got that there, too. All you’re really looking for is a reason to cut him to ribbons. That’s all. And you want to know something? That’s what I find most interesting about you. First, that you think you need a reason. That you don’t just do it. No one out here will see, and if they did, they wouldn’t care. But you need a reason. Second, that you let me live. I still don’t get that. That excuse of yours about me distracting you was just bullshit. With all the poison filling you so much you’re close to choking on it, I don’t know why you didn’t. Killed those wagoners quicker than blinking. So now you’re looking to kill Mccabe here. What’s stopping you?”

  She stood rigid in the fire’s suddenly chilling glow.

  The fat man stared fearfully at her face as it shifted between outrage and defiance before settling into an impassive mask rendering it impossible to wonder at the thoughts rushing turbulently through her head.

  “You might be right, Chukshene,” she said. “Maybe I’m afraid. Maybe fear locks me up so much I need hate to keep moving. And you’re right I want to kill this piece of shit. And I want to kill you, too. And every time you open your mouth, I want to kill you more. Why don’t I? To tell the truth, I ain’t so fucking sure myself.”

  The spellslinger nodded, suddenly wary as the elf slowly lifted her fingers to her face and began rubbing at the vicious scar.

  “Are you going to kill me?” the fat man’s voice was a thin sound, like he expected to die and was almost at the point where it didn’t matter to him anymore.

  “Horse on the left,” she said. “The mare.”

  “What?”

  “Get on it and fuck off before I change my mind.”

  Mccabe blinked. Glanced at the warlock, who gave a sharp nod. Then scampered through the snow toward the horse.

  Surprised by the fat man’s sudden approach, the mare gave a low snort and pranced sideways until the fat man managed to haul himself onto the docile beast’s back. Taking a fistful of mane, he cast one last glance at the elf and licked his lips.

  “Long-ear?” he croaked into the brittle wind. “Want you to know I think you’re the meanest fucking bitch I ever saw. And you got some bad shit running through your head. I ain’t stupid enough to hang around with you. But, thank you. You saved my life. We meet again, I won’t forget that. I owe you. Spellslinger? Ain’t sure you’re a clean mage, if you get me. But I don’t much give a shit. You did right by me. Tell you something for free. I reckon you should fuck off, too. Before she gets you killed. Or kills you herself.”

  And with that, he wheeled the horse sharply and kicked his heels in to send it springing out into the darkness.

  They waited around the fire in silence, listening to the thudding hooves fading quickly into the distance. The gelding snickered, stamping its hoof uncertainly as the mare disappeared.

  “Fucker’ll probably follow them soon,” the spellslinger sighed, nodding at his horse. “I got nothing to tie it down with.”

  “We don’t need it,” shrugged the elf.

  “Says you,” he snorted. “My feet hurt.”

  “Shouldn’t keep putting them into your mouth then.”

  “Funny. Now what?”

  She turned toward the town, feeling its magnetic pull. The gelding gave another nervous snort and trotted tentatively into the dark after the mare.

  “You can do what you like, Chukshene. Me? I’m going into Spikewrist to see if they’re there. Kill them if they are. Kill anything that gets in my way.”

  “Guessed you would,” he sighed, watching the horse leave. “Can’t wait until morning, I suppose? Whatever’s in there is probably stronger at night no matter what you think.”

  “So am I.”

  “Great. But I can’t see shit. And now I have to walk. I have blisters, you know. These boots are fucking killing me.”

  “Then stay here.”

  “And if you get yourself killed, what am I going to do?”

  “I don’t much give a shit, ‘lock. Sit there forever for all I care. Or head north.”

  “Do I look like a human fucking compass?”

  “You could follow the fat man. Move quick and you can catch your horse before it gets far.”

  “If that fucker makes it out of the Deadlands alive, I’ll eat my fucking robes. I’ll stick with you for now. Because he was right. You’re the meanest thing I’ve seen since I got here. No offence. So if anyone�
��s getting me out of here, it’s you.”

  “Told you I’d take you to Spikewrist,” she said, waving a hand toward the ghostly town. “And there it is. Who said anything about leaving the Deadlands? This is my home. ‘lock. Why would I want to leave this shithole?”

  “Because it’s the way of the world, Nysta,” the spellslinger said in a tone that made her eyes narrow to glittering slits. “Things change.”

  She slipped her hands into her pockets as a fresh gust of wind billowed around them. Immediately found her fingers wrapping around Talek’s box. It was as cold as a block of ice and for a moment, she thought it was pulsing slowly in her palm.

  She needed to see it. Just a glance.

  Surely a glance wasn’t against Talek’s rules?

  Her fingers were tight against the metal ribs.

  “Right, then. Coming? It was your idea, remember?” The spellslinger gathered his pack and stretched his arms before starting toward the inky black blob on the horizon. He gave a negligent wave of his hand and the fire behind him flared once before snuffing itself out like a blown candle. Added, almost cheerfully; “Oh. By the way. If we die, I’ll haunt you forever.”

  “That’s the spirit,” she muttered, watching his back. Her emotions swirling unsteadily through her as she battled a burning desire to pull Talek’s box from her pocket and an almost manic sense of suspicion as the warlock’s cryptic words rolled around her skull.

  He looked over his shoulder. “Hey, you like riddles?”

  The elf grunted sourly as his words cut her indecision. She slid after him, draping her palms over the handles at her hip. “Not really.”

  “Well, we’ve got a ways to go, so how about this one? What has roots as nobody sees; is taller than-”

  “Just shut your flaphole and keep walking, ‘lock,” the elf growled. “What’s in my pockets ain’t your business.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 

‹ Prev Next ›