Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2) (11 page)

The warlock was right.

It wasn't making any sense. Why would something go to such lengths to keep them prisoner? What would they have to gain? The magic needed to raise a wall like that was incredible. She knew enough about magic to realise it would take dozens of mages to raise such a thing.

And why hadn't whoever built the trap come looking for them in the middle of the night? There was ample opportunity. But, other than the increasingly devastating seismic shifts leading up to the violence unleashed upstairs, the night had been quiet.

Taking a sip from the canteen, the elf felt a small twinge in her shoulder.

It disturbed her to think of the unusually small amount of blood soaked into the rag. She'd been wounded many times. Had more scars than she could count. So, she knew how her body responded to cuts both deep and small.

Flexing her fist, she felt only a creeping sense of numbness down her arm. But it was nothing like the pain that should be shooting down her nerves considering Torak's hook had punctured her shoulder.

Even though her jacket had managed to protect her from the full force, it had still cut deep enough to need more attention than just a dirty rag and a few hours rest.

It was also beginning to dawn on her that perhaps the warlock hadn't healed her. Perhaps he'd meant it when he said he hadn't done anything.

With a shudder, she pushed at the rising fear. Knew it was a foolish thing to do. But knew, too, that there was too much emotion surging through her since that moment she'd found her husband with a knife in his chest.

Knew the hurt to her heart had somehow screwed up her ability to think straight.

She tossed the canteen onto the table. Pressed her hands to her temples. The ache was there again. It felt like one of Torak's hooks was clawing at her brain.

She could taste iron.

And peaches.

Why peaches?

“Nysta? You sure you're okay?”
 

The warlock was watching her intently. He gripped his grimoire hard and she noticed his fingers were already preparing to open the book. A thin acrid smell wafted in the air between them like the ghost of a threat.

A threat she chose to ignore, because his eyes held fear.

Fear of her.

Why he should be afraid of her, she couldn't say. But she had a few ideas.

Casually, dropped her hand to let her thumb hang off the hilt of the enchanted blade. Just in case. “I'm fine, Chukshene,” she said evenly. “Just thinking is all.”

“Anything in particular?”
 

“There a reason you give a shit what I'm thinking?”
 

The warlock's gaze was piercing. “I think you know why. That cage your husband had. It had something in it. Something bad. I still don't know if it's there inside you or not. Still don't know if you're who you were yesterday. Because when I see you holding your head like that, it looks like someone else is thinking with your brain. And I feel like pissing myself and I don't know why.”

She kept her face impassive, but her mind raced. Cage? He'd called it a cage. Talek had never thought of it in that way. “I ain't changed, 'lock. Not much, anyway. Was thinking that time heals all wounds is all. Some maybe quicker than others.”

“You've had a bad week, Nysta,” he said, trying awkwardly to be comforting. He slid his fingers from the pages of his grimoire. Held it in one hand at his side and she couldn't fault the genuine concern which flitted across his face. And something else, too. Guilt, maybe? Whatever it was, it wasn't something the man was used to feeling. “You know, we haven't exactly bonded or anything. And I'm about as good at it as you are. But, if you need to talk about things. You know, about what's happened? I'll listen. What I'm saying, I guess, is that I'll try not to be a fucking asshole about it.”
 

“Obliged for the thought, 'lock,” she said. Felt the pain gently throbbing across her shoulder. “But I already vented enough for one day.”
 

CHAPTER NINE

He stayed by the window for a long time, studying the shimmering wall. Rubbed his chin as his mind turned over and over. The elf thought he looked like one of the old men who haunted the markets. The ones who stood in the shadows and looked with vacant expressions at young girls. As though trying to remember something they'd forgotten.

For her part, Nysta found she didn't really care too much about the wall. That it was made of dead bodies didn't bother her.

Instead, she worried about what lay within the cliffs. What could make the very ground shake so violently?

Because something was happening. Something she couldn't see. Couldn't hear.

Soon, she felt, something would come for them.

And when it did, she wasn't sure they'd survive.

But it wasn't here, yet. Like a spider with too many flies in its web, it would come for the smallest last. The undeniable horror of an insignificant death dug through the elf's thoughts and she tried to imagine what evil was picking at the threads of this particular web.

Tried to summon a picture in her mind.

And drew a blank.

The elf probed the scar on her cheek. Remembered the taste of the sword which had punched through the flesh and came so close to blinding her. Remembered killing the swordsman. But his mark had stayed with her, always itching.

Scowling, she snatched her fingers from her face and sought distraction within the depths of her jacket pocket. Dug out the small box she'd carried these past few days. The box her husband's family had protected since the Godwars.

Gone was the feeling of being hot or cold. It now felt like an ordinary wooden box. Any hint of a mysterious aura looked to have fled when it opened.

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.