Blade Of The Vampire King (Book 4)

by Lucas Thorn

  Volatile.

  Something she didn't want to wake.

  He lip twitched bitterly. Then her face resumed its impassive expression. Revealing nothing of her thoughts, she glanced at Chukshene. He flashed a pained grin at her, torso bent awkwardly as he followed.

  Only then did she realise he'd not been walking easily since they'd left the Grey Jacket camp.

  The elf grunted. It wasn't like him to not be complaining about it from the start.

  She turned away. Kept her gaze aimed firmly at the impenetrable darkness ahead. His pain was his problem. As hers was her own.

  They continued down the tunnel until the light faded to a dull grey glow, hiding more and more of the tunnel's guts. Offering more places for soldiers to hide from her sight. But the longer they walked, the more she began to wonder if the Grey Jackets had really entered the tunnel.

  Or if anything at all was alive inside.

  The crisp air drifting from outside lingered on the back of her neck. The air in front, however, seemed moist and warm. Like the breath of a lover. But there was an ugly smell on its exhalation. Something not quite metallic.

  Not quite natural.

  She couldn't place it, and her mind searched for an adequate comparison.

  The hairs on the back of her arms and neck tingled.

  An odd taste settled in the back of her throat.

  And, by the rising murmur of the warlock's voice, he was feeling the change, too.

  He said something she didn't quite catch. Something about Vampire Lords and their defences. Then something about Grey Jackets. Rule's cleric and his powers.

  Nothing she didn't already know.

  With each step, the shadows smothered even more light and her violet eyes strained harder to catch a glimpse of what lay ahead. Her fingers hovered closer to the hilts of her weapons.

  Moving from blade to blade as she kept her arms in constant motion to ensure cooling muscles stayed warm. Supple.

  Ready to strike at the slightest sign of violence.

  “Something's not right,” he whispered. Those words sank through the veil she'd drawn around her awareness of him.

  She kept moving, slightly crouched.

  Silent.

  Glittering slits for eyes.

  “Nysta,” he hissed at her as he snatched at her bicep. “Wait! Something's not-”

  He nearly died right there, screaming on the point of her blade. Go With My Blessing was half-drawn and the snarl ground from the back of her throat as she spun on him. Savagery burning in her gaze.

  Her feral expression sent him back with a startled yelp.

  The uneven ground betrayed him and he fell hard, sending debris skittering in all directions.

  More than a few fragments of stone skipped past her boots and landed with a splash only a couple of steps behind. She glared down at the fallen warlock as he scrambled away from her, arms up in self-defence. Stink of magic reeling from him through he couldn't concentrate enough to let loose his words of power, even if he could cast without his book.

  “Wait!” He stuttered on his words. “Nysta, wait! I didn't mean it. It wasn't anything. It's just-”

  But she'd turned away already, eyes searching the dim light while the rage inside her chest fluttered and died as quickly as it'd burst into existence.

  Splash.

  That much had penetrated the blind white noise of hatred.

  The pebbles had splashed to a stop.

  Which meant water.

  Water she couldn't see.

  The warlock sputtered into silence as she started speaking. “Ever been down an alley in a mean part of town, Chukshene?” Her voice was cold, but steady. As though nothing had happened. “Late at night. Without a knife in your fist. And it's just you. All alone in a city which should be sleeping. Only it ain't. It never sleeps. It just waits.”

  “Huh?”

  “Kind of alley where thieves will cut your throat for the coppers hiding in your purse? Then some feller steps out of the shadows. He's big. Bigger than any other feller you ever saw. And his face is hidden behind a mask. His knife is hidden, too. You can't see it, but you know it's there. It's as sharp as a razor and hungry for blood. He looks straight at you. Asks a question. Well, I'm asking you that that question now.”

  He sucked a few quick breaths. When his voice came, it was ragged with uncertainty. “Nysta. Are you okay?”

  “Don't sweat it, 'lock.” Her lip twitched briefly toward the scar on her cheek. “Just wanting to know if you got a light is all.”

  “Oh.” He fumbled himself upright, wiping dust and dirt from his robes before closing his eyes and concentrating. “I'll try.”

  Without his grimoire, she could tell it was harder for him.

  The stink of his magic was slight. Barely enough to shimmer through the metallic tang which was already there. Sweat squeezed through the pores of his brow as he murmured a few short words of power.

  The sickly yellow light vomited into existence just in front of his outstretched hand. Hovered there, fizzing gently like a globule of electric yellow pus.

  “Shit,” he said, reeling a little on his feet. His body gave a few shudders. “For a second there, I didn't think that would work.”

  “You did fine,” she said, not knowing why. The words fumbled across her tongue and ended with an awkward sigh. Feeling a rush of heat flare down her spine, she turned back to the ground in front of her but couldn't see any ripples.

  She bent down.

  Picked up another small stone. Balanced it in her hand a few times, rubbing her fingers across its grooved edge. Then tossed it a short distance ahead and watched as it landed with a dull splash. It didn't skip. Her eyes narrowed as the stone sank into the dark, leaving behind a series of ripples which quickly died.

  The warlock recovered from casting and stepped close. “A pool?”

  “Reckon so,” she said, clenching her teeth as she caught the acrid stink of his magic. Then tossed another stone as far as she could. Beyond the range of the yellow light bleeding from his orb.

  They heard the resulting splash and looked at each other with equal distaste.

  “Ah, shit,” he said.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Reckon you're about to get your feet wet. Maybe more than just your feet. Could be you might slip and drown, too. Especially if you try touching me again, 'lock. I've been patient with you. Ain't sure why, myself. So you'd best make sure you don't do that again.”

  “I didn't mean anythi-”

  “I know. But don't touch me.” She remembered the way her anger had erupted so quickly. “Chances are I'll kill you before I can stop myself.”

  He chewed his bottom lip. Thoughts crawled around his skull like spiders. Spinning webs inside webs, no doubt. Then he nodded as awareness dawned. “The Cage,” he said. “Something's happened. Hasn't it? Yeah, I can see it now. You're different. What is it, Nysta? What happened?”

  Everything, she wanted to say.

  She wanted to tell him about the constant feeling of insects wriggling on her skin. Sometimes deep within her muscle. And she wanted to tell him about the headaches. The blinding headaches. And the dull fog which had haunted her for months and which was now a boiling and near-uncontrollable rage.

  Emotions twisted inside her heart like a steel knife.

  But she didn't. She couldn't speak. Not to him. How could she trust him? He was there when Talek's Cage had opened, and he'd not been able to do anything. Or maybe he'd chosen not to do anything.

  Either way, she was certain he knew more than he was saying.

  “Ain't that,” she growled. “I just don't like being touched is all. Not by you. Not by anyone. So keep your hands to yourself.”

  “Sure, Nysta.” His smile was soft. “But you'll have to tell someone. You can't bottle it all up. Not forever. It'll drive you crazy. I mean, crazier. If you can get to be such a thing.”

  The elf knelt beside the edge of the fluid hidden beneath what looked to be a layer of dust
and grit too light to sink. She studied the surface silently for a while, understanding why it had looked no different to the rest of the tunnel floor.

  But something still nagged at her.

  So she slid Go With My Blessing free and slid the blade beneath the surface to scoop some of the fluid.

  Then watched in uncomfortable fascination as the thick oily fluid drooled off the blade. Black as night and more like slime than anything. Which also explained why it didn't ripple much.

  “Oh, that looks disgusting,” the warlock said pleasantly. “Do you think the Grey Jackets would've crossed through this shit?”

  “Reckon so,” she said. “But how far'd they get? Could be it gets real deep. Maybe even without warning. And, if it's like this, maybe they couldn't swim back out. Could be they're dead, Chukshene, and your book is down there with their bodies. Hidden under this muck. We'd never find them.”

  “You mean, you think it could be like quicksand? I've heard you get it in the southern marshes. Shit. I hate quicksand. I used to have nightmares about it when I was a kid.”

  “Ever seen it before?”

  “No. But you don't need to see something to hate it.”

  “Well. We'll stick close to the wall, then. I figure it'll be deeper in the middle. Maybe along the edges it's more shallow. We'll take it slow. Easy. And could be we'll see signs of the Grey Jackets on the other side.”

  “Do you really think it's safe along the wall?”

  The elf's gaze was impassive. “Nope.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “You know, for caring about my feelings at a time like this.”

  “I don't care about your feelings, 'lock.”

  “I know. I didn't mean that. I was being- Oh. Never mind.” He began rolling up his robe, then his loose-fitting pants underneath. Took off his boots, tied their laces together, and slung them over his shoulder. Revealed pale thin legs with scratches of dark hair. A deep red scar travelled the length of one leg from his ankle to his thigh.

  She frowned at it, suddenly aware of how much she didn't know about him. “That must've hurt.”

  “Yes. It did.” He moved closer to the strange pool's edge. “But you should see the other guy. Right, then. Let's get this over with before I throw up. You know, on second thought. What if someone lives in this? I mean, Vampire Lords created all kinds of monsters. Sure, most of them are dead a long time ago. But some of them survived. We know that much. You remember that bastard with all the chains in his back? He survived for centuries. What if there's something in this shit, too?”

  “Then we're dead.”

  “You know what? I'm going to stop asking you questions before I decide suicide's a better option than living.” He took his first step, gasping in shock. “Grim's fucking shit, it's cold!”

  “She watched him delve further into the pool, thick fluid clenching around his shivering knees. She cocked her head.

  Then sighed.

  And stepped in herself.

  The sharp sting bit into her bones as the fluid's frozen temperature penetrated her boots. Normally, it wouldn't have bothered her. But as the blast of cold hit her body, the insects raced around her shoulders and the slime around her legs gave out pulse, sending a massive shockwave rumbling out beneath the surface of the pool.

  Just one pulse.

  But it was deep. She could feel its echoes beneath her feet and had no doubt it had travelled into the very bones of the mountain itself. It didn't echo, though. Didn't repeat. Lasted long enough only for the Chukshene to spit a curse and for her to suck a deep breath.

  “What. The. Fuck,” the warlock breathed. “Was that?”

  She shook her head, not sure whether to move forward or leap back out. “Ain't sure,” she said. “Wasn't expecting to get noticed so soon. But I reckon we've made a splash.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  They remained frozen in place for at least a minute, each looking at the other and hearing only the sound of their hearts hammering blood through their veins. Waiting for something to happen.

  She knew whatever the pulse had been, it had changed something about the cavern. The sharp metallic tang in the air was warmer. A little more burnt. And the wriggling sensation between the folds of her clothes was more frenzied.

  Excited, even.

  Finally, her patience broke. “Move,” she growled, startling the warlock.

  He nodded, and began heading back toward her.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Chukshene? Not this way.”

  “But-”

  “There's a cleric in here somewhere. He's got you spellbook, remember? And he's got a traitorous bastard of an elf with him. Who's still got most of his blood on the inside. Reckon we should keep moving if we want to fix that.”

  He frowned at the still surface of the pond. “I don't like this, Nysta. It's not right.”

  “Just move, 'lock. If anything was going to happen, it would've happened by now.”

  “Anyone ever tell you you're shit at logic?” But he headed toward the other side of the pool anyway. Lifted his legs high as he went, causing the black slime to splash loudly around him. “I mean, that's not even close to being logical. That's called a fucking deathwish. I'll tell you something, Nysta, and this might fucking surprise you. But I don't want to die. There, I said it. I don't want to die. I'm not a coward or anything. Don't laugh at that. I'm telling the truth here. I've walked into scary places. Creepy places. Places which would turn your fucking hair white as old dog shit. But every time, I knew I could count on myself. Count on what I can do. This time, though, I'm counting on you. Only you. Because any spells I can cast without my grimoire are going to be shit. So, you know. Try not to get us fucking killed just because you can't be bothered using your brain to think things through. Please?”

  She pushed him in the back, not hard enough to knock him over, but hard enough to make him stagger. “Shut the fuck up, Chukshene. Just keep moving.”

  He ignored her. “And how cold is this shit? You know, there's these caves on an island in the Krakenwatch Straits. The kraken go there every year to fuck and spew out little fucking baby monster kraken. Horrible place. When it's full of squirming little kraken spawn, it must be worse than the Shadowed Halls. All hungry and eating anything which breathes. Or doesn't breathe. But the caves aren't made of rock. They're made of ice. Solid ice. Most amazing shit ever, I think. And you want to know something? I'll bet you a whole fucking bag of gold it'd be warmer swimming there than in this. I can feel the cold in my bones. In my fucking bones.”

  She didn't want to think about ice caves.

  Or kraken.

  All she wanted was to be out of the pool.

  The cold bit deep, like he said. The insects scurried faster. Burrowing into her flesh.

  She reached up, rubbing the back of her neck. Trying to lose the sensation of worms crawling across her skin.

  The warlock continued to talk, spilling fragments of old legends about lost pools. Some meant to heal wounds. Others containing nymphs whose sole purpose was to entomb travellers in weed-encrusted depths.

  She blocked him out.

  Listened only to the thudding of her heart.

  Gentle intake of breath.

  Exhalation.

  And the rippling of the pool they were walking through.

  Each step was difficult. The heavy drag of her legs trying to push through the thick consistency. It seemed, at times, to be repelled from her. And at other times it circled her legs, like it was trying to drag her down. Something about its texture and the way Chukshene's sickly yellow light glittered off the dusty surface, made her stomach churn.

  Combined with the memory of the pulsing wave as she'd stepped into it, her fears were sending shivers of panic up from the depths of her soul.

  What was it made of?

  Had the cleric and his men actually made it to the other side?

  What if there really was something hidden beneath the surface? Something dark and hungry.

  She fel
t a tendril slide between her ankles.

  Or did she?

  Was it her imagination?

  No.

  Something brushed her foot. She was sure of it.

  She stopped. Waited. Poised to react.

  Rubbed her cheek and felt her heart pound like a blacksmith's hammer against the anvil of her chest.

  “Nysta?”

  Her head snapped up and she saw the warlock, stamping his feet on the shore. The black slime peeled off easily to leave his legs dry.

  “Nysta, are you okay? Look at this shit. I'm not even wet. That's really fucked up, isn't it?”

  She nodded, exiting the pool with more rush than she'd intended. Felt a momentary thrill as she imagined a tentacle of darkness whipping out from the pool to drag her back into its depths. Hairs on the back of her neck rippling in a flush of fear.

  Felt the icy touch melt away with the black drool sliding from her boots to the ground where, instead of being absorbed by the loose grit, it dribbled slowly back into the pool.

  Something crawled across her spine, sending shudders racing down her arms.

  The warlock eyed her carefully, apparently not noticing the way the fluid raced back to the pool's alien embrace. “Are you sure you're okay? You scared the shit out of me back there. When you grabbed me? It didn't look like you were okay.”

  “I don't want to talk about it, Chukshene.” Began to quickly check her knives, moving her thoughts onto something more mundane. Her lips moved to the names of each blade.

  Then, determined not to let him talk, started walking further own the tunnel.

  Thought she could see an end to it now they were past the pool. Somewhere hidden in the gloom, beyond a few smudges of black, the yellow light seemed to reflect back off something.

  She just couldn't tell what.

  The elf turned her neck slightly, watching the warlock roll his pants back down and begin adjusting his robe. Looked away again, frowning at the spark of anger which crackled to life in her belly.