Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2)

Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2) Page 9

by Lucas Thorn

  And the alien runes, still etched across its belly and around the cold metal ribs, appeared less intense. Like they were fading.

  It looked so ordinary. Uninteresting. And she wondered why she still carried it now its secret contents had been loosed. Perhaps into her flesh.

  Quickly arrived at a simple conclusion.

  It was Talek’s.

  Talek’s box.

  In a moment of fear, Chukshene had called it a cage. Hadn’t meant to, she figured. But his brain had been more focussed on being afraid than being careful with his tongue. And the way he said it sounded like he knew more than he was trying to let on.

  She wondered what other secrets curled inside the warlock’s brain like a knot of weasels. And what it would take to dig them out.

  Grunted.

  Probably a pickaxe through his forehead.

  But even then she wouldn’t trust his answers.

  Gripping the box tight in her fist, she couldn’t shake the feeling the warlock was playing a game. A game in which the stakes were high and her life was just a piece on the board. She wondered if it were she or the box which was more important to the warlock.

  No. Not a box, she told herself. A cage.

  An empty cage.

  She tossed it high. Watched it spin end over end.

  Caught it.

  Juggled it.

  Yawned, and stuffed it back into her pocket.

  Looked over to the warlock, who remained fixed in place like a statue.

  “You ain’t solving anything standing there like an idiot,” she said.

  “I’m thinking,” he said, sounding more irritated with himself than with her. Though, it didn’t stop him from adding with a churlish sneer; “Which is more than you’re fucking doing.”

  For a moment, she thought about looking for a pickaxe. Then clicked her tongue. Dragged her feet from the table and shuffled toward the doorway. “Fuck this.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Hunting.”

  “What for?”

  “For whatever the fuck is out there. Sooner or later, it’ll come for us. And I ain’t sitting here on my ass waiting to die. I’ll find it first. And then stab it in the face. Twice. Three times if it pisses me off.”

  “That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it? Thuggery. Even out here in a place all the gods have forsaken, you act like you’re still in an alley of cutpurses and street urchins.”

  “Don’t knock it,” the elf countered. “It works.”

  He worked his jaw, trying to figure out how to react. Which was, she thought with a curl of her lip as she nudged the door open with the toe of her boot, the first time since they’d met that he’d been lost for words.

  Pausing outside the doorway, the elf glanced upward.

  Could imagine the smell of death on a slight shift of air fluttering down the stairs. But quickly submerged such thoughts. She’d learned a long time ago they were the seeds of nightmares. And nightmares were about as real as dreams of riches and an easier life.

  Or, she added with a grimace, the dream of a peaceful life with the man she’d loved.

  Chukshene wrestled with his pack. Nearly dropped his grimoire, but managed to wrestle it deftly in his hands. Sprinkled a few curses and rolled the long sleeves of his robe up his arm. The vivid purple runes glittered sharply as he scuttled forward, the robe kicking up dust in his wake.

  “Wait for me, then,” he called.

  “Told you before, ‘lock. Ain’t my job to wait. Your job to keep up.”

  The bolts were still in place. So Neckless had told the truth about arriving first. Then it’d simply been luck that the elf had chosen the tower in which the two dead mercenaries had been holing up. Which wasn’t much of a surprise. As Musa’Jadean, they’d been trained to command the best defensive position when in hostile territory. And, given the military design, the tower had been the obvious choice.

  She grunted with effort as she wrestled with the last bolt. It felt wedged in and she figured the iron had twisted over the years. Maybe the shifting ground had caused it to warp even further, but in any case it refused to budge. The elf glared at it. Then pushed her boot against the wall for more leverage and set her jaw.

  “Need some help?” Chukshene asked, stepping up quickly.

  “I ask for any?” She didn’t look at him. Took a tight grip on the bolt and gave a savage jerk that made her arm spasm. With a gasp, she let go and clutched at her shoulder.

  “Leave it alone,” the warlock said, rolling his eyes at her. “You’re obviously still in pain. I’ll get it.”

  She shoved him aside, her eyes sparkling venomously. “I told you. I’m fucking fine.” She bared her teeth wolfishly. “It’s just a scratch.”

  The elf took another grip on the bolt. This time, as she wrenched it back, the iron gave a sharp twang and broke in half. Looking down in surprise at the shattered metal in her hand, she slowly opened her fingers and let it drop to the stone floor with a clatter. Opened the door with her arm numb from elbow to shoulder.

  Chukshene nudged the broken bolt with his toe as he stepped past her. “Guess you didn’t need help after all.”

  “It was old,” she said. “Probably rusted away years ago.”

  “Right,” the warlock nodded. Paused on the threshold. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. But you’re getting on my nerves, ‘lock. If you ask me again, I’ll put my fist through your teeth.”

  “You really didn’t have any friends when you were a kid, did you? I was just asking because you can’t even lift your arm. Right now it’s all fucked up and you’re frightened. Sure, you’re doing your best to hide it behind the black armour and the insane number of knives. But you don’t have to be afraid. Don’t have to live with pain all the time. I’m no healer, but I might be able to help, you know. If you’ll let me.”

  The muscles and nerves in her arm shared static notes of pain as she lifted it to squeeze a fist in front of his nose. Her expression revealed nothing of the pain she was feeling “Told you. I’ve had worse.”

  “Have it your way. Choke on your wounds for all I care. But it’s not just for you I’m offering to help. When we find what’s keeping us here, we’ll probably need to fight. I need to know I can count on you as much as you can count on me. Need you to be able to use that arm of yours, Long-ear. Because we’re not getting out of this unless we’re together.”

  “I hear you, ‘lock. But you don’t know me well if you reckon all I’m gonna do is bleed on this fucker. It’s not like I’ve lost both my arms and legs. I told you. I’ll kill it. Even if I have to use my teeth. Don’t you worry about my shoulder. Got it caught on something is all. But that’s all behind me. I’m fine now.” She showed a crooked grin. “Besides. It’s just a flesh wound.”

  “And what if it’s not? What if you can’t move?”

  “Well. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” she said easily. Then pushed him gently aside so she could pass through the doorway. Stepped into the courtyard while rubbing her upper arm and wincing.

  Was satisfied to feel the numbness fading quickly as she led him out into the murky light.

  Though she kept her movements casual, almost laconic, she was inwardly tense. Expected violence to explode out of the deceptive peace like a swarm of bats. Her violet eyes thinned to slits as she looked around. Carefully scanning every shadow. Searching for movement.

  But nothing moved.

  And the eerie silence was broken only by the warlock’s nails cracking between his teeth as he chewed them noisily. “Now what?” he asked as her head snapped round so she could glare at him.

  “Keep your eyes and ears open. And be fucking quiet.”

  “But-”

  “Shh! Listen. Look. Nothing else.”
/>
  Picking their way around the tower to avoid smoking cracks in the ground and strewn rubble, they were faced with a few small buildings. The hooded windows seemed to watch with unearthly menace, and the elf felt a faint itch in her palm.

  At a glance, she guessed the closest was a storehouse. A few smaller huts which were probably officers’ quarters. They were badly damaged by time, with most of their walls missing stone and overgrown with thick black moss. The ground, too, was covered in patches of black sludge and moss. A few puddles of melted snow and mud. Fingers of dripping ice hanging from the corners of some of the buildings.

  It was cold, she thought. But the thick walls forming a near-dome above them had worked to keep what little heat existed inside and the air had a slight musty humidity to it that echoed the fog encircling the cursed fortress.

  Ignoring the small huts, she was drawn by instinct to a longer building toward the rear of the fortress. She could see it sprawling behind the officers’ huts. Figured it to be the main barracks.

  A low rumble made her head snap around. But this time it was thunder, rather than some hidden mechanism, which made the ground shudder. Shrugging off the spark of panic, she kept moving toward the barracks.

  “I fucking hate that,” the warlock muttered. “Thunder. At a time like this? It’s creepy, I tell you. Fucking creepy.”

  “Chukshene,” she whispered. “Reckon you’ll be any quieter if I cut your lips off?”

  “Alright, alright.” He fell back a few steps to put some space between them. “Fuck, you’re touchy. I was just saying.”

  She kept her voice low. “We don’t know what’s out here, ‘lock. Don’t even know where to begin looking. In this situation, only two things can happen. Either we find it first, or it’ll find us. Only thing you’re doing by flapping your jaw is making sure I don’t hear it coming. One of my teachers had a saying. Say it in your head, or say it dead.”

  “Sorry,” he said, trying to walk more softly.

  “Don’t be sorry. Be quiet.”

  The warlock gave her a sharp nod, which she returned, before moving on. Winding between two of the small ruined huts, the elf touched one of the walls as she passed. Noticed scorch marks and raking scars in the stone beneath the slick moss.

  More gouges ran like gutters across the ground. The elf tucked a thumb over the hilt of Kindness and squinted at the uneven ground.

  Ignored the warlock poking his head curiously over her shoulder and gently used her foot to disturb a small mound of black huddled against the wall. Revealed the gleaming white of a skull. A massive hole in the side of its head was filled with rotted debris. The sour animal stink of old death was strong.

  Chukshene stifled a gag by putting a hand over his mouth.

  Wiping her hands on her jacket, she slid toward the mouth of the space between the two huts and peered at the barracks opposite. Tried to penetrate the shadows, but as far as she could see, the interior was a depthless void. Crouched low, ears straining for even the slightest sound.

  Still her palm itched. She scratched at it irritably.

  Then headed swiftly into the open and onto the wide porch opposite. Wood planks, unused to weight, creaked uncomfortably beneath her feet. The warlock followed cautiously, wincing as he worried the brittle wood might splinter beneath each creeping step.

  The walls had held pretty well, so it was warmer inside than out, even though the door had been torn from its hinges and lay sprawled across the threshold. She stooped under cobwebs draped across the two bunks guarding the doorway and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  Soon could make out the lines of bunks. Their bedding had mostly rotted to rags and a banner hanging from the far wall was little more than mouldy strips. A thick layer of dust covered everything, including the small chests squatting at the ends of each bunk for the soldiers to have stowed their gear.

  She used the toe of her boot to pry one open and squatted to get a close look.

  A few rolled up clothes stained with mildew. Random personal items of no interest to the elf. Couple of yellowed letters which would no doubt disintegrate in her fingers if she tried picking them up.

  Nothing out of the ordinary, but she knew no soldier would have left their belongings behind. Not unless they were in a hurry.

  “Nothing but shit,” he commented quietly. “You think they’re dead?”

  “Reckon so, ‘lock,” she said. “Was a long time ago.”

  “You know what I mean. You think they’re part of the wall?”

  “Fucked if I know. But I figure there’d be more blood if something was killing them. Maybe a few more bodies. Just looks like they left in a hurry. Could be that wall was built since the Godwars. After these fellers left.”

  “And you know nothing about this place? A big fucking ruin which sprouts walls of flesh and maybe eats anyone stupid enough to get near it? Surely that’s something to talk about on a cold Winter’s night?”

  The elf shrugged. “I don’t talk much to locals.”

  The warlock gave her a wry look. “Maybe you should start.”

  She rose slowly, slapped her hands clean of dust and moved to the next chest.

  Kicked it open.

  More of the same. But her gaze was caught by smudges in the dust a few bunks up. Her eyes narrowed and she crept forward, touching her fingers to the marks in the dust.

  Shot a look toward the warlock and pressed a finger firmly against her lips.

  He nodded and lowered himself slowly into a crouch. Gently eased the grimoire open and licked his lips nervously.

  Crouching low, the elf followed the disturbed dust and quickly found clear signs of bootprints. A low growl escaped her throat. She’d seen these prints before. Back at the house she’d built with her own hands. The house which now cast its shadow over the grave of her husband.

  At first, she started to dismiss the prints as belonging to Torak and Neckless. But noticed there was no blood. Torak had been bleeding. She also figured he’d have been leaning on Neckless when they’d arrived. These prints were made by two men who weren’t wounded.

  The prints led to a second doorway. The elf slid up to the door and pressed herself against it. Listened through the brittle wood and heard little beside a slight hushing of a shallow breeze fluttering down from the narrow gap in the ceiling of the dome.

  Looking back, she saw Chukshene moving slowly toward her. His book was open. Finger pressed to one page. Eyes wide and sucking at the light as desperately as his lungs sucked at air.

  She placed a hand on the ancient doorhandle.

  The metal was cold between her fingers.

  Slowly turned it. The creak of metal was louder than she’d expected and she closed her eyes in annoyance. Waited.

  Nothing.

  Began to wonder if she was being too cautious. Heart thudding in her chest, the elf slowly opened the door, keeping herself hidden from outside view. She could see through a crack between the wooden planks which formed the door. But couldn’t see far through the gloom.

  The warlock leaned close. His voice barely a whisper, but it reached her ears. “You think it’s out there?”

  “Nope,” she said. “Reckon it’s more of Raste’s fellers. Two of them. Killed two last night. Neckless and Torak. Remember Fenis said he reckoned the Twins headed this way, too? Well, I reckon that’s who’s out there. Seems strange they didn’t meet up with Neckless. Maybe they didn’t know each other was here. Can’t be sure. Either way, they’re out there. I can feel it. Just ain’t sure where.”

  He shot a sharp look of surprise. “You killed two last night? When?”

  “Leave it, Chukshene. We ain’t got time. Reckon you can scry anything?”

  “I’ll try. It’s a bit hard if there’s no direct path I can see, and the door is in the way. Hold on.”

  Closing his eyes, he held his h
and out, touching the door. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead and the acrid smell of magic tickled her nostrils. She wanted to lean away from him, but kept herself rigid.

  Finally, his eyes opened and he shook his head. “Can’t feel shit. The door’s blocking me. I’m sorry. I’m not that good at it anyway.”

  “No sweat,” she said. “I’ll go first. But keep close. We’ll run straight across. Reckon they’re in one of the huts, so we’ll head between them. Fast. Eyes open, ‘lock. And do everything I say. If I say stop, stop. If I say run, run. Got me?”

  He nodded grimly. “Got you.”

  “Then, on three. Ready?” She gripped the door hard. Her other hand fisted around the thin grooved handle of Ribbed for Her Pleasure. “One. Two. Three”

  She exploded through the door. Felt a rush of cold air as she hit the porch. Skipped over a broken floorboard to land heavily on the ground beneath the stairs. Chukshene wasn’t so lucky. His foot caught and he barrelled into her with an involuntary cry.

  It was an accident which saved her life.

  The arrow which slashed through the air should have buried itself in her throat. Instead, it speared into a beam directly behind as she was shoved across the ground with the warlock rolling heavily beside her.

  Someone shrieked from the darkness; “Stay back! We’re warning you! You take another step and we’ll turn you both into fucking hedgehogs!”

  “Fuck you!” She shouted back. “You’re another pair of Raste’s assholes? Then you’re dead meat. Aim to kill you both.”

  “That ain’t a smart thing to say, raghead. Not when we got you in our sights!”

  “Then take your shot. And best you make that shot count. Because I’m coming for you.” She took a step forward.

  “Hey! Back the fuck off!” His voice was shrill. “We ain’t fucking around. So, you use your head and maybe we can work something out. Wasn’t us who did for your husband, raghead. Was Fenis. We can tell you where he is. Just let us go. We know where they’re headed.”

  “Fenis is dead, motherfucker,” she said through her teeth. “And I already know Raste’s running to Grimwood Creek. Know why, too. He’ll get his.”

 

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