by Lucas Thorn
The elf was surprised by the young woman's ambition. Lead armies? She nodded grimly. “Reckon Bucky'll have the second floor. Probably got men sitting in the dark with their swords out.”
“Which is why we've been waiting. Give them time to rest.”
“You reckon they've been sitting around long enough? Got themselves nice and sleepy?”
“I'll take the soldiers. And the cleric, if he's here. You go for the mage. And Bucky.”
“Clerics ain't easy...”
“I know. But neither are mages.” She lifted the axe grimly. “One through his neck and he won't be healing shit.”
The elf hesitated and, for a second, she was in Lostlight. Crouched on a wall. Watching as a group of soldiers and a Ruleist spellslinger made their way through the city toward the palace. They moved away from each other.
She was alone.
She had to make a choice.
And she'd followed the soldiers, fear in her heart.
Fear which turned to horror when Talek began screaming.
Her nod was abrupt and she kicked herself out of the chair. Ran her fingers over a few knives and headed toward the door. Swept it open and leaned out into the night, feeling the rain as it tried its best to purify a town still echoing with violence.
She fancied she could hear the scream of hinges as the Shadowed Halls opened in preparation of what was, most likely, going to be a bloodbath. Felt her cheek begin to burn and reached to rub at the scar. Motioned the young axewoman to move closer alongside her.
They darted across the street, two shadows leaving a ghostly trail in the mud.
Slid across the yard, dropping down near the bush beside the window. Looked up at the opening which was about waist-high from the ground. The elf could practically feel the men waiting in the room.
How many? Ten?
Twenty?
She'd fought more Grey Jackets holed up in an inn inside Grimwood Creek, she told herself.
And how much of that was luck born from more desperation than any moment in her life? All of it. Every stinking kill. She knew she couldn't repeat that moment.
Melganaderna took a few deep breaths and closed her eyes. No doubt was telling herself the same thing. She could do this.
They could do this.
Together.
The heavy wooden shutters almost trembled as Melganaderna reached slowly for them. “This is gonna hurt,” she muttered.
“No it won't,” Nysta growled, throwing herself to her feet and kicking the shutters open with her boot. “Reckon it's paneless.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
As expected, there was no glass.
She dove inside, rolling and coming up on one knee. Both hands out wide in a defensive arc. A Flaw in the Glass in one, Unsolicited Advice in the other. Violet eyes wide. Body drunk on adrenaline.
Melganaderna landed behind her, a throaty growl tearing loose as she brought the oversized battleaxe up hard in expectation.
The merciless wind sent missiles of rain through the broken window. Missiles which padded hard onto wooden floorboards already wet.
But not with rain.
Blood.
The elf's eyes flicked to Melganaderna, whose mouth tightened into an unhappy line. “Shit.”
“This isn't right,” the young woman whispered. “Nothing feels right about this.”
Nysta stayed where she was, kneeling in a pool of blood. Unsure which way to move. Two doorways led from the room. Both illuminated by lights further inside the house. None promising movement. The house itself sounded empty.
Felt empty.
She nodded. “Ain't nothing felt right since we got through the Doomgate,” she said, voice barely a whisper. “There should be hundreds of soldiers inside the town. Because they sure as shit aren't in the fucking trenches.”
“Instead, we've got illusions and a few scouting parties.”
“Mage should've killed us by now, too.”
Torment quivered in the young axewoman's mailed fists. “I'm not complaining about that part.” She crouched a little lower, as though trying to peer through the walls. “Maybe we missed them. Maybe they did go out front and attack the Doomgate. Could be we're too late?”
Nysta lifted herself to her feet. Didn't sheath the knives, but rolled her shoulders to ease the tension. Spat a wet globule into the red puddle. “This is bullshit.”
She strode through the closest door to a room which had been used by Bucky's guards. Two corpses sprawled across the table, guts torn from their bellies. Another lay near the doorway, throat slit in a wide mocking grin. It was mostly this man's blood which had jetted free to cover the floor.
And the walls.
And the ceiling.
A stairway leading up was littered with bodies. She counted five. All with short gaping holes in their throats and guts.
Neat, she thought.
Efficient.
“Willem,” she said. Wasn't sure why his name came immediately to mind, but she had no doubt it was his work. Even though, from what the scouts had said in the rain, he was supposed to be on their side.
“Warm” Melganaderna muttered. “They're still warm.”
Nysta looked around and saw the young axewoman kneeling beside the young man with his throat gouged open. She'd removed a glove and was touching the soldier's cheek.
The elf eyed the staircase. “Reckon they didn't want him to leave,” she said. Pointed to the front door beyond the stairs. Bloody bootprints left a trail which wasn't hard to see. “He did.”
“What do we do now?”
The elf shrugged. “See if Bucky's still alive. Kill him if he is.” She headed to the stairs. “Wait here. I won't be long.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Keep an eye on the door. Reckon someone'll want to check in at some stage.”
“And then...?”
“We ain't the kind of hotel they're expecting.” The elf's lip curled into a cruel smile as she ascended the stairs, picking her way through the dripping bodies. “So, check them out, but don't let them leave.”
At the top of the stairs, a line of doors. Each reflecting darkness through slits beneath the each door. Except one at the end. A bright line glowed calm, filling the dark hall with shadows. She moved slowly, boots leaving only a slight sound as they touched the wood.
At each door, she paused. Leaned into the wood. Opened slowly and looked inside.
Found only a few more dead bodies.
Kept moving.
The final door waited, teasing with light. A shadow flicked across it once, promising something was still alive inside.
The elf listened, straining to hear anything.
Anything which might hint at what she was about to find. The cleric? Mage? An army of traitors and their master?
Ran the tip of her tongue across her lips, tension spilling down her spine.
The fear in her guts, churning rapidly. Crystals of ice.
She reached out. Touched the door handle. The brass was cold.
Closed her eyes.
Sucked a breath.
Then twisted hard and kicked at the same time, to send the door flying inward with a sharp crash. Speared inside, knives swirling. Was prepared for anything.
Except the sight of General Dav Buckinum staring out the window with his back to her. A tall man, thin brown hair shot with grey. Lines deepening on his face as he approached his mid-forties. He stood straight with the gait of a man who'd lived his life in the military, but kept his hands clasped behind so she could see they were empty. He sighed as she darted across the floor and leapt onto the heavy desk.
“Don't move, feller. And don't make a sound. Ain't no one can help you anyway. On account of downstairs, you'll find my favourite axe is waiting.”
“I wasn't planning to resist.” He said. Then added with a moment's hesitation; “Nysta.”
Which made her freeze. “You know my name.”
“Oh, yes. I know your name. And I know what you're capabl
e of. It's why I didn't bother calling more men to guard me. I knew it was pointless. He told me it would be.” The older man chuckled bitterly. “I didn't believe him, of course. Not until he cut his way out with just a vegetable knife. I imagine you saw the mess he left? I think he was trying to make a point. I might have been a bit stubborn. I regret that now, of course.”
“Willem?”
“That's what he called himself, yes. It's not an elf name, is it? No. So, he took it for himself. He calls himself Accepted, though it's plain to see he never earned that gift. But who am I to judge? I'm not the Lord of Light, and perhaps those scars mean more than they seem.” Bucky moved his head a little, trying to peer at her from the corner of his eye. “May I turn around? I won't fight you. I was never good with a sword. Numbers were my thing. No, not budgets. Profits. My profits, to be exact. So, I know where there's something to gain and where there's not. I would like to buy something from you, Nysta.”
“Where's the spellslinger?”
“Good. We're dealing. See?” He swallowed before continuing. “I don't want to die, Nysta. But I understand it's inevitable. Especially now. I have seen the writing on the wall. If you let me go, there's only two places I can flee to. Toward the Doomgate, where Asa will have me killed. Or, back into the Fnordic Lands, where she'll hunt me down anyway. There's no hope for me. I know that. So, I'm not asking you to let me live. What I want to buy is the manner of my death. I don't want to die screaming. I want to die quick. Painless. And I know you can do that. He said you were good. You can kill me fast. You promise me this, and I'll tell you anything you want. I'll tell you where the spellslinger is. Tell you where the cleric is. Tell you how many men I have, and what we planned. I'll give you all my gold. Anything.”
The elf's eyes thinned.
She admired the way he kept his voice calm, despite the blade pressed to his neck. He knew he was dead and knew he couldn't talk himself out of it. He no doubt could feel the Old Skeleton caressing his soul.
Yet, he stayed cool. Even his hands, clasped tightly behind his back, didn't tremble.
All the same, the fear was there. Sweat down the back of his neck. Beads of it lining his skin. The terror of pain. Suffering. He'd inflicted enough of it to know he didn't want to feel it himself.
A Flaw in the Glass spun in her fingers as she pulled it away from his neck. Shoved Unsolicited Advice back in its sheath and crouched low on the desk. Picked at a few pages of notes he'd been scribbling. Figured them for nothing important and tossed them aside.
Motioned to his chair with her knife. “Sit.”
“You promise me?”
“I'll make it quick,” she said, making no move to jump from the desk. “All Asa wants is your head. She didn't tell me to make it hard.”
His shoulders drooped as he let the tension ease. “Good. I'm grateful.” He turned and moved deliberately into the chair, keeping his hands in front of him. “So. What do you want to know first?”
“Where's the spellslinger?”
“Gone. He left with Willem. It appears the Lord of Light considers Willem's task more important to mine.”
“And the cleric?”
“I don't know. He's supposed to be behind the trenches, healing our boys. He's exhausted, though. He's why we haven't been able to send more men at the Doomgate. He can't heal them fast enough. I don't think he's very powerful.” The ageing soldier's eye twitched. “Maybe that's why Rule gave him to us. I don't think we were expected to succeed.”
“And how many of you are left?”
“Well, at last count, which was a few hours ago, we had ninety-eight. We had more, but a lot of them left. Ran away into the night. Afraid of the Emperor. Afraid of Rule. Many had come because they simply didn't like their life. They blamed your kind. They mouthed the words, but now I think they never believed them. Only those who had faith are left. Half of those are in the trenches. I kept the remainder in town, tucked away in a few small groups so they could rest. Sergeant Markem is in charge of them. He's looking for you. I knew he wouldn't find you, but it was worth a try.” The man leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “There should have been more of us. But I don't think anyone thought we'd get this far. They said it couldn't be done. But I'd been infiltrating the Freemen for years, weeding out those I thought wouldn't obey me. I'd gotten rid of all the elfs. I was working on the orks when word came down I had to act straight away. I had to get the Doomgate open for King Scarrow to enter.”
“What went wrong?”
“Asa.” He wrinkled his nose. “She wasn't supposed to be here. But in she danced, the spoilt brat. Moved into the Wall straight away. Refused to take rooms in the town. Said she wanted to stand on it. I don't know what she was trying to achieve, but it reeked of politics. Twisted little bitch. Tell me, if you don't mind, how much is she paying you to kill me? Is it a lot?”
She thought of the ring nestled in her pocket with Talek's Cage. “Reckon she gave me everything she had.”
“Ah. That's flattering, I guess. I think she knew about me before she arrived. The way she looked at me sometimes. It showed. I knew I had to act, even though we weren't ready. The men had been moving into town for weeks. Waiting. I gave the order, and we took Lovespurn. It was easier than I thought it would be, but we got lucky. For some time the Wall has been difficult. Its supplies harder to reach. I was grateful the Wall is dying so she couldn't get to the top and use some of the machines there against us.”
“Dying? Why do you think it's dying?”
“It is, isn't it? Didn't you see it? The black stains? The way its corridors aren't working. Everything the Dark Lord built is falling apart now.” He shook his head. “Even goblins have infested it like rats. But all I needed to do was get my hands on that accursed deathpriest. Wring his fucking neck and make him open the Doomgate. All I needed was him. Our cleric could have cut off his power and Belmergan could've worked on him.”
She remembered the name. Martyn had rambled it at some stage. Now she had some context froms someone whose brains hadn't been turned to mush. “Belmergan? That's your mage.”
“Yeah. For what he was worth, he was our mage. Sent by Rule himself.” He opened his eyes, frowning slightly. “He was good. Maybe too good. In hindsight, I think he was waiting for Willem. The two seemed to have an understanding. The illusions he posted were his idea. I'd have preferred he used something more destructive, but he refused. Said it wasn't what the Lord of Light wanted.”
“And where'd they go?” She wasn't sure why she asked. Only that she had an urge to find Willem. It wasn't her responsibility, she told herself. But her palm was itching every time she thought his name.
“Ah. That, I can't tell you. Not that I would break our agreement, you understand. It's just that I don't know. He was careful to keep his secrets. However, I heard him ask one of the men about how best to get to Dragonclaw. Perhaps that's where they're heading. But I didn't feel that was his ultimate destination. If I had to guess, I'd say Doom's Reach is where you'll find him. All roads lead to Doom's Reach, you know.” He studied the hand wrapped around the handle of A Flaw in the Glass. “Will you kill me now?”
“Anything else I need to know?”
“Only that I did what I thought was right. I knew the consequences of what I was trying to do. I knew it would mean the deaths of millions. Your kind would be destroyed by Rule. His hatred for you is extreme.” He licked his lips. “I never agreed with that, I want to say. I don't think you're tainted. Or any of that bullshit. But I believe that, with the Dark Lord dead, we're doomed to turn on ourselves. Already there are men who would be kings. Who would challenge the Emperor. And the Mage Tower is helping the chaos spread. Sure, they think they're doing the right thing, but they'll divide this land. Break it more than the Lord of Light ever could. I considered him to be the lesser of many evils. Sacrifice some, to save the herd, right?”
“I hear he pays well.”
Dav Buckinum laughed softly. “He does indeed. Ah, the riches
I was promised, Nysta. I could buy my own throne with it. And, actually, that was the plan. Why not, after all? I came so close. So close.” He closed his eyes. “And now it's all come to nothing. I wasn't good enough. I didn't have enough men. And, in the end, the Lord of Light expected me to fail so sent only a fool of a cleric and a mage who walked out the second he was told there's an assassin in the town he can't scrye. Cowards and idiots. My mistake, I guess. If I was as good a leader as Maleoin, maybe I would've chosen better people. And maybe my men wouldn't have walked out on me. What do you think? Where did I go wrong?”
A Flaw in the Glass left a ribbon of venomous green light as it was driven into his upper chest, just under his collar. It tore through meat and bone before the ferocious point gasped out through his back and pinned him to the chair.
He let out a squeal and writhed, cracking a few more bones as they were prised against the unmoving blade.
“You . . .” His eyes were wider than they should be, the orbs almost popping free of their sockets as agony splintered his nerves. “Promised!”
“Yeah,” she said. “But you asked me to tell you where you went wrong. Figure I'm letting you know. You fucked up when you trusted the wrong fellers.”
And she drew her new knife, its blade pulsing with solid black energy which crackled and spat as it curled around the slightly-serrated edge. It was a fang. A tooth.
“Please...”
“Shh, now.” The cold smile added no warmth to her eyes. “You look like a man who ain't been managing, Bucky. Here. Let me take some weight off your shoulders.”
And the awful blade, black enchantment whipping like tentacles of solid shadow, began to saw.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Blood sprayed with reckless abandon. Spurting mad patterns across the wall and ceiling. Spitting into her face. The black worms of shadow from the knife dragged across his flesh, pulling the skin apart. Probing inside, burning their way through meat and bone. Sucking marrow from his bones. And then, they ate into his brain.