Blade Of The Vampire King (Book 4)

by Lucas Thorn

  “He was fine until we made it to the caves at the back of the tunnel,” Melganaderna said. “Happy, even. He loves to study things. And that door out the front made him jump around like a kid. He says it's older than anything he's ever seen before. I tried taking him back outside, but he refuses. He says we have to go further. But we couldn't move fast. He wasn't able to stand for long. Then we had to hide from the Accepted.”

  “Accepted?” Nysta's eyes narrowed at the word.

  “Yes. They were searching the caves. There's a cleric with them. I thought he'd find us, but Hem managed to keep us hidden. It was casting that spell which drained him so much.”

  “He'll be fine,” the warlock said, brushing his hands against his robe. “I think he just needs a bit more rest. I've seen this kind of thing in apprentices who cast too much in a short time.”

  The young axewoman seemed to relax a little. “Thank you, mage.”

  “Yeah,” Chukshene's words stumbled across his lips. “Well. Sure. Any time, I guess. I suppose we can wait with you, for a short while. Make sure he's okay. We're headed inside, too, you know. I mean, it's not a race. But I'm worried what that cleric might find. And what he'd do with what he finds. This place is special. A place of power.”

  “That's what Hem said.”

  “He's right. And we have to stop that bastard cleric from disturbing anything.”

  Nysta snorted. “That'd be your job. Wouldn't it, 'lock? The looting?”

  “Let's not get into that again,” he muttered.

  Sliding the last of her knives home, the elf looked at the mail-clad axewoman again. Could see the concern on her young face as she watched Hemlock's chest rise and fall in a ragged rhythm.

  “That's a big axe,” the elf said. Her fingers explored the swelling on her forehead, above her temple. The stinging made her wince but the tendrils of numbness moving through the bruises made her think of worms sliding between her skin and her skull. Not a pleasant thought, and one she could live without. She dropped her hand and grunted. “And ugly. You usually so gentle with it? Might want to swing it a bit harder if you plan on killing someone with it. Maybe use the sharp edge. That's what it's for.”

  “I only saw your ears at the last minute,” Melganaderna said. The young woman had to work had to tear her gaze from Hemlock. “You're lucky I did. Or you'd be dead. I've killed a few men with this thing already. Yeah, even with the flat of the blades. When I first swung at you, I was trying to cut you in half. I couldn't stop after I started, but I managed to turn my wrist. Even so, you should be dead. Should have crushed your skull. Now, it seems you know who I am. You even know why we're running. But it looks like there's still some secrets here we haven't shared. Want to share them with us?”

  “She's got a hard head,” the warlock grinned. “Filled with rocks. You'd have more chance breaking this mountain than her skull.”

  Silently, she agreed with Melganaderna. The battleaxe should have obliterated her skull.

  Should have sent her howling into the Shadowed Halls.

  Instead, she was alive. And, other than a throbbing headache, she felt mostly fine.

  Remembering back to when she was young, the elf had been hit on the head before. A few times. Fights were common in the ruthless alley shadows. Sometimes after being hit, she'd feel sick for days.

  The swelling would be a lot worse.

  And there'd be more blood.

  She looked down at her hands. Saw grime streaking her fingers. Felt the light crawl of insects over her skin, and looked up into Melganaderna's searching expression. Was about to say something, though she wasn't sure what, when Hemlock let out a deep groan and tried to sit up.

  Which took the young axewoman's full attention away.

  The elf's gaze caught Chukshene's, and he nodded slightly as though acknowledging how close she'd come to telling the young woman about Talek's Cage. As though something had been saved by Hemlock's timely movement.

  Maybe it had.

  She still didn't like thinking about what invaded her. A gift? A curse?

  Something stirred as the warlock held her stare. Something irritated.

  She looked away.

  “Hem? Are you okay?” Melganaderna moved quickly toward the struggling young man. She tried to help him sit up.

  He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. “I'm fine, Melgana. Fine. It's just I heard her again. That voice. Screaming in my head. I couldn't block it out. It was too much.”

  “Whose voice?” Chukshene asked.

  “Sorry?” Hemlock blinked at the warlock. “Who are you?”

  “I'm Chukshene. Don't you remember trying to cut my throat? It was lucky for me you fainted before you could slit a vein. Lucky for you, too, in a way.” He cleared his throat and edged closer, an intent expression on his face. “You said her voice. A she? Does she have a name, this voice? Or are you just a few birds short of a flock? You know. In the head?”

  Hemlock pressed his palms against his eyes and grimaced, unaware of Melganaderna's arms around him. “I don't know. She never says anything. Just whispers and cries. Cries and whispers. It's almost like she's asleep. Dreaming. And all her dreams are nightmares. But she's not to be trusted. There's so much hatred hidden beneath her sorrow.”

  “Huh.” The warlock shot a smirk toward Nysta. “Sounds like someone I know.”

  “We need to stop them,” Hemlock said, reaching up and grabbing a fistful of the warlock's robe. “They're already waking her. I don't think we want that. No. It would be a terrible thing. A terrible thing.”

  Slowly prising Hemlock's fingers free of his robe, the warlock remained calm. “Of course we don't. We don't want to wake up anything. I'm against that sort of thing. Especially in old ruins and tombs. Best to let sleeping ghosts dream. Right, Nysta?”

  The elf grunted, but said nothing. Ignored Melganaderna's puzzled look.

  “She's not a ghost,” Hemlock said, his face pale and his eyes beating open and closed like the wings of a moth. “She's something else. Something worse.”

  “Really? And how might you know that?”

  “I know them.” His eyes opened wide for a moment. Then closed. “I've studied them. The dead, I mean. I'm a necromancer.”

  Chukshene nodded, as though satisfied with his private guesses. “Of course you are.” He looked up as the young necromancer slid back into unconsciousness. Locked his gaze with Melganaderna and smiled. “Wouldn't have picked him for anything else. I mean, look at him. All dressed in black. Only those of us with our fingers in darker pies can wear the black with such class.”

  “You're no ordinary mage,” Melganaderna accused, making to lift the massive battleaxe to defend Hemlock if needed.

  “Don't get excited,” the elf said. Her lip curled slightly. “We might be the makings of a good party, but now ain't the time to be raising hell.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was Nysta who decided they would remain with the young couple, defying the warlock's insistence they should continue alone. It would be faster, he argued.

  His impatience to retrieve his book and anything else he could find, was making him gnaw on his fingernails.

  She told herself it was because she didn't want to leave two Caspiellans to creep up on her when she wasn't expecting it, she grudgingly admitted to a level of curiosity she didn't normally possess.

  She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about the pair intrigued her.

  It resonated within her heart like the echo of a bell.

  So she sat to one side and watched as Melganaderna lay close to Hemlock and wiped the cold sweat from his brow. Listened to the gentle murmuring of the young axewoman's voice, and endured Chukshene's thoughtful stare.

  And waited for the necromancer to wake.

  Many times she had to resist delving into the pouch where Talek's Cage lay hidden. Resist bringing it out and staring for long minutes at the spidery runes, hoping for some kind of explanation to worm its way into her brain. What had been insi
de it? And what was it now doing inside her?

  She couldn't deny it any more. Couldn't pretend there was nothing. Even if she still refused to concentrate on the sensation of movement on her skin. Deeper even than that, sometimes. Within her muscle.

  Something was there.

  Hidden.

  She pressed her fingers to her forehead and kneaded the pain above her eyes.

  “Are you alright?” Melganaderna asked. Her voice was soft. Genuinely concerned.

  The elf nodded. “Fine.”

  “She's a woman of few words,” Chukshene explained when the young axewoman glanced at him in search of something more. “You'll find she's as blunt as a hammer most of the time, too. But don't worry about here. She'll be fine. Trust me. Tougher than an ogre's hide is Nysta. Smellier, too, so stay on the downwind side.”

  Melganaderna didn't look convinced. “I'm not sure I can trust you, warlock. In turn, you don't trust us. That's why you chose to stay with us, isn't it? Because you don't trust us enough to leave us behind.”

  This last was aimed at the elf, who nodded lazily. “Would you? All I know about you, kid, is you're a Caspiellan. And a queen, at that. Queens are supposed to be loyal to their people.”

  For a moment, it looked like the young axewoman was going to scoop up her massive weapon and charge the elf. Her fingers twitched toward the handle, and her scowl left the air between them vibrating with spite.

  But she didn't.

  Instead, she took the elf's words with a bitter grunt and nodded. A sharp nod. “Yeah. I guess you're right, Long-ear. But you don't know much about me. Or what I'm like.” She looked down at Hemlock, who writhed in his sleep. “It wasn't an easy choice for either of us. And I know you might think we're just a couple of kids running from their parents. Maybe you think we're immature. Stupid. And you could be right about that, too. But, as you said, I should've been the queen when my father was cut down in his bedroom. Cut in half, he was. Right down the fucking middle. So, the crown should be mine by right. But my brow wasn't made for it. I never wanted it. I was always comfortable with the idea of my cousin taking it. I just wasn't comfortable with the idea of him taking me with it. I left my home, Nysta. A place I loved. And I know I'll never be able to go back unless it's in chains. Maybe I'm selfish, but as far as I'm concerned, I don't think slavery should be rewarded with loyalty. Do you? I mean, what would you have done, if you were me?”

  “I'd have walked away, kid.” The elf's eyes glittered bright. “Killed any feller stupid enough to get in my way, too.”

  “Yes. That's what I did. Just like that. I killed everyone stupid enough to get in my way. And that's why I can't go back. It's also why you can trust me not to switch sides if we see any more of the Accepted.”

  “No ifs about it,” Chukshene muttered. “We'll see them. Sneaky bastards could be anywhere.”

  The elf agreed with a slight movement of her head, but said nothing as Hemlock suddenly sat up, eyes snapping open. Mouth working furiously as he was chased from his dreams by the restless debris of nightmare.

  “Blood,” he cried, voice shimmering with terror. He gulped for air. Snatched at ghostly threads only he could see. “There's so much blood! It's everywhere.”

  “Hem?” Melganaderna grabbed his face by his cheeks and turned him toward her. Pulled him close. “It's okay, Hem. It's a dream. Just a dream.”

  “No,” he said. He clung to her like a child. “Not a dream. It was too real to be a dream. She was right there, Melgana. Right in front of me. I could almost touch her.”

  “Touch her and I'll break your fingers,” Melganaderna murmured.

  Chukshene moved closer to squat beside the necromancer. “Has she told you her name?”

  The young man pressed his fingers to his eyes and pushed hard. Squeezing the light from his vision.

  Drew his lips back into a frustrated grimace. “I can't remember. Something. It's right there. Right on the tip of my tongue, but I can't say it.”

  Nysta watched Chukshene and Melganaderna fuss over the necromancer and, while her face was unreadable, her mind was a frantic whirl of emotions.

  Part of her wanted to join them. To kneel beside the young man and press a hand to his forehead. To draw some of the fever from his brow.

  Another part of her wanted to wander over and stab him in the face.

  There was something eerily familiar in the way he'd sat up.

  In the way he spoke. The frantic terror of his voice.

  Grunting, she climbed to her feet and turned her face from them. Toward where the warlock's globule of light hovered patiently. Waiting for instruction to seek its next destination.

  Suddenly irritated by the presence of the humans, the elf strode purposefully away.

  Tucked her thumb behind one of her knives and scratched at the scar on her cheek with her other hand.

  Scowled as she passed the shining orb.

  “Nysta?” Chukshene arched his neck and frowned. “Where are you going? I thought we were waiting for-”

  “I'm done waiting, 'lock.” The elf spat a wet stream at the ground in front of her. Rolled her shoulders to clear the tight feeling in her muscle. “Reckon there's a few fellers who headed this way. Figure they're set on dying. I'd hate to disappoint them.”

  “Wait!” Melganaderna snapped at the elf's back as Chukshene rushed to collect himself and move after her. “Hey, you said you'd wait! We only need a moment.”

  “Had more than a moment, girl,” Nysta said. “Long enough for Hyrax and his bastards to get further away from me than I like. Long enough also for my brain to think things I don't like thinking about.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “Maybe nothing,” the elf allowed. “But there's a time for waiting, and a time for moving. Time for waiting's over. Your feller's awake now. Get him on his feet and keep up. Or don't. All the same to me right now.”

  Chukshene threw the young couple a rueful look. “You'll get used to it,” he told them, brushing dirt from his robe. “It's just the way she is.”

  The elf didn't slow. She was already out of range of the sickly yellow glow, feeling a sense of comfort as shadows enveloped her.

  A ribbon of irritation vibrated inside her spine like a fiddle's freshly-struck string. But far from feeling musical, it felt uncomfortable. The discomfort slid around her belly.

  “Nysta,” the warlock panted as he caught up. “It's not really very nice to leave friends behind, you know. You might upset them. And they are friends, right?”

  “I don't need them.”

  “You never know,” he said, voice solemn all of a sudden. “We might. You see, I've been thinking. If anything's been living down here in the remains of Urak's Keep, then it's going to be twisted and fucked up. Strong, too. You remember how tough that last one was to fight? That creep with the chains and shit? Well, what if there's something bigger in here?”

  “If it breathes, I can kill it.”

  “Yeah, sure. I won't argue the optimism of that. But isn't it easier to kill monsters like that if there's four of us? That way you don't have to break all your knives. Maybe you'll end up only having to break one. Two at the most. Surely that's a good thing? I mean, you like your knives, don't you? Besides, this was your idea, remember? Joining up with them?”

  “The Jukkala work in Hands. Small teams. Usually threes. Sometimes as many as five. They trained me well, so I've learnt a lot about teamwork, Chukshene.”

  “Then you know what I'm trying to say?”

  With a shake of her head, she ran her fingers through her hair. Snagged a few small knots of cloth. “Learnt I work better alone.”

  Then she stopped as the rear wall of the tunnel showed itself to the dull yellow light of Chukshene's floating orb. Light which illuminated dozens of smaller caves leading into the mountain's solid core.

  Some looked too small to squeeze through.

  One, a short climb above most of the others, vomited a thin trickle of black slime. The
same kind of slime which swirled in the pool. The elf shuddered.

  Another amassed old bones in its mouth. Bones which now lay in a forlorn heap. A lone skull with its jaw missing stared back at her with mocking sockets, its unseen spirit no doubt amused by the decision she was now forced to make.

  The elf felt impatience rising in her belly just to think of all her options. There were so many ways the Grey Jackets could have gone. How long would it take to explore all of them?

  Which tunnel would be the best to venture into first?

  And how old would she be when she found the right one?

  Behind her, Melganaderna and Hemlock shuffled closer. Hemlock's breathing was strained, but the low mumble of the young axewoman's voice appeared to have calmed him.

  They didn't look at the elf as they approached. Their gazes, too, were drawn to the many tunnels.

  “Shit,” the warlock said. Nodded toward the couple and waved an arm at the wall. “Which way do you think we should go now?”

  Which was when a volley of screams bounced from the ragged mouth of the nearest cave like a swarm of frightened bats.

  The elf's grin was cruel and she glanced at the three humans with anticipation burning in her eyes. “This one.”

  “Grim's guts, I knew you were going to say that.”

  “Then why ask?”

  “At the time, I didn't know,” he said drily. “But after the screams, I'd hoped you'd do the smart thing and pick another.”

  “Ain't your lucky day, 'lock.”

  “Can we get on with it, then? If we're going to die, I'd rather die before I piss myself.”

  But the elf had already dived into the opening, A Flaw in the Glass spinning venomously in one fist, Underling's Bane in the other.

  Melganaderna moved as fast as she could, motioning for the warlock to take her place at Hemlock's side.

  “Careful,” Hemlock rasped, accepting the warlock's help.

  “I'm always careful,” Melganaderna said. Smiled as she hefted the massive battleaxe and darted into the cave after the elf. “You know that, Hem.”

  The cave itself was tightly wound like a stone spring, sometimes wide enough for the young axewoman to think of swinging the over-sized weapon. Other times, she had to keep it tucked tight against herself to slide between two walls of rock.