Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2) (13 page)

“Be careful,” the warlock said nervously. He sucked loudly on his bottom lip and his grimoire was open in his hand. “They could be waiting for us. They've got bows, remember. And arrows. Not only that, they sound like they're scared. Which makes them dangerous if you corner them up there. We got lucky once. I don't think we'll get lucky again.”
 

“Do I look stupid?”
 

His voice was dry. “Remember Gaket? I told you not to let his shit touch you. What did you do? You not only touched it, you let it nearly possess you. And the cage? Didn't I say not to open it? So, you know. Yeah, you look kinda stupid enough to need some fucking reminding.”

The elf almost choked on her retort as a roar of wind belched dust and grit from the tunnel's mouth. Ejected in the rush of wind, small stones skittered down the stairs and across her boots. Squinting into the hot exhalation, the elf kept one hand hovering close to
A Flaw in the Glass
while the other shielded her eyes. Could smell raw earth and burnt metal.
 

“What the fuck was that?” Chukshene coughed and spat as dust settled in the echo of the blast. He took a step backward, his face pale and horrified.
 

“No idea, 'lock. But even if it was the Gates of the Shadows Halls opening, I'd still be heading in there.” She tightened the bracer on her left arm. Though outwardly she appeared determined, inside she felt cold chills of fear strumming on her guts like they were lute strings. “Two fellers I want dead are still alive in there and I ain't letting them get away. Besides, it's also looking like the only way out. We ain't got any idea what happens while the walls are up, but chances are we don't want to know. Also a chance we'll find out any second. Which means we ain't got time to fuck about. So you open that book of yours and stick your nose in it. Then pick up your dress, Chukshene, and move.”
 

“It's not a fucking dress! It's a robe! Big fucking difference, you long-eared thug. Shit.” He looked around, desperate for another option. Struggled with indecision before noticing she was already making her way up the uneven steps. “Hey! You're crazy. You know that? Fucking crazy. You belong in a madhouse! It's the only solution. Protect you
and
me.”
 

“Relax, Chukshene,” she said, half turning. A crooked smile toyed at the corner of her mouth. “I ain't got suicidal tendencies. So quit whining and start climbing.”
 

Angling steeply upward, the tunnel led deep into the heart of the cliffs. Scraped out of the solid stone, the unnatural cave twisted and turned like a cut snake. Where it was too step, more stairs had been chipped into the rock, but mostly it was the uneven ground that provided footing.

Her vision being better than a human's, the elf didn't need light to see the slick edges of the tunnel and strode confidently forward. But the warlock had no such gift. He barked a few quick words of power and a small globe of sickly yellow light unfolded itself from the darkness with a wet hiss to hover obediently a few metres ahead.

Something moved swiftly up her right wrist, and she slapped it, looking down sharply.

Nothing.

She pursed her lips and twisted the loose-fitted bracer to see if whatever had crawled over her skin had burrowed under the leather, but saw nothing. Felt nothing.

Maybe it was her imagination? Still, she could have sworn there was something real.

“Everything okay?” The warlock watched her intently, the yellow light staining his face and giving it an eerie demonic glow.
 

She nodded. “Fine. And what did I tell you about asking me that?”

“Fuck off. If you don't want me to ask, then wipe that expression off your face. It creeps me out. Makes me want to piss myself. And, stuck here under a mountain of rock makes me want to piss myself enough as it is.”
 

She allowed there was something repressive about the tunnel. It wasn't high enough for starters. She could have touched the roof by lifting an arm without stretching.

And in some places the walls had crumbled inward on a wave of grit and stone, forcing them to squeeze through more narrow passages. A bleak reminder of the fragility of tunnels.

About all that pleased her was when that she occasionally caught a glimpse of bootprints in the rubble. Which meant she was still on the right track as she hunted her prey.

Though her heart clamped whenever they made a corner, she didn't yet expect the Twins to make their stand. Their bows wouldn't be much use in here. They'd most likely try for the end of the tunnel. All the same, she paused at every sharp turn and was careful in case they'd grown sick of running and decided to use their swords.

They hadn't gone far into the tunnel when she heard a slow drumming sound.

Like a heartbeat. Muffled and heavy.

Motioning the warlock to silence, she knelt on the moist stone and pressed her hand against the ground. Felt it there, like a soft pulse between her fingers. It was distant. But she could feel it.

And for her to feel it, it would have to be big. Which meant it had nothing to do with the Twins, and everything to do with the force which had trapped them in the fortress to begin with.

“What is it?” he whispered as she started forward again.
 

“Drumming.”
 

“I don't hear anything.”
 

“It's those little round ears of yours, 'lock,” she said with a tight grin. “Ain't good for much. You'll hear it soon enough, I reckon.”
 

He strained to hear, but gave up. “I'll trust you. What's making it, you think?”

“Ain't sure. Reckon whatever controls those walls is between us and the top of the cliffs. Could be the tunnel's bait. Which means whoever set the trap could be up ahead somewhere.”
 

“And we took it. Oh, great. I don't suppose they're friendly, do you?”
 

“Relax. Could be someone chopping potatoes for all I know. Maybe they're setting the table right now. Give you a fucking banquet.”
 

“Don't say that,” he said sourly. “I'm fucking hungry. Just thinking about a table of food right now is enough to make my guts try crawling up my spine.”
 

“You ate not long ago, 'lock.”
 

“Did I? Tell my stomach that.” He tapped on the corner of his grimoire thoughtfully. “Look, Nysta. Are you sure about this? Whatever can raise walls like that is bound to be powerful. And mean. So it'll easily do for your two. There's no point following them to their deaths. And maybe there was a way out of the wall. We didn't even try looking around. Maybe we're wasting our time. Maybe we'll get killed for nothing. There's still time to get out of here.”
 

“You reckon there's a way out back there, 'lock?”
 

“Maybe. Maybe not. Look, I'm just saying, if we're going to die, I'd rather not die in a hole in the ground.”
 

“There's no good places to die.”
 

“I know that. I just meant-” He cut himself off and exhaled sharply, eyes widening. “I can hear it. The drumming. What is it? I think I just swallowed my balls.”
 

“Hardly a meal.”
 

“Funny. What were you again? Joker'Jadean?”
 

The elf stopped so suddenly that he threw his arms up in front of him, certain he'd gone too far. Afraid that the hand which blurred to the knife at her hip meant to punch the blade deep into his chest.

Unaware of the warlock's reaction, the elf seized
A Flaw in the Glass
and fell into a fighter's crouch as a hot wall of air roared suddenly up the tunnel. The warlock's ball of light flickered as the wind slammed past. The sound was like a heavy metallic crunch mingling with a scream.
 

His robes whipped around, forcing him to spin with them, eyes wide and fear draining the colour from his face.

Violet eyes glinting, the elf held her pose until the air was still and the only sounds she could hear were the muted drumming and Chukshene's gasping breaths.

He waved for the light to come closer to him, as though it would provide protection from things lurking in the shadows. Said; “That doesn't sound good.”

“Didn't smell too good, either.”
 

“It's a wyrm,” he decided, pressing his back against the wall. “A fucking wyrm. We are so fucked.”
 

“Ain't a wyrm,” she said thoughtfully. “Something else.”
 

“Like what? What else makes tunnels in the ground? What's big enough to make this much fucking noise and breath hot air?”
 

“Don't reckon it was breath,” she said, letting go of the knife at last. “Smelled like burnt metal. And something else. You never been near a blacksmith's, 'lock?”
 

He studied her carefully. “You're telling me we're headed into a smithy? Next you'll tell me it's a lost tribe of dwarfs. We're too far south and a long fucking way from Dwarfsholme. There can't be any dwarfs in the Deadlands.”

“Only one way to be sure,” she said, grinning without humour. “Walk and find out.”
 

How long they climbed the crude stairs up the twisting path, it was hard to tell. With no light to reference herself to, she could only guess. But she guessed a few hours. A few hours in which the warlock was mostly silent as the exertion of the constant climb took its toll.

The elf kept a cautious pace, though her heart pounded impatiently. She'd spent years training to be what she was. Had learnt everything her teachers had been willing to teach. But patience wasn't one of them.

One of her first trainers had told her it was a good thing she'd turned out to be so good with knives. Because she was never going to be able to master the slow art of sneaking into a fortress.

About the only way she was going to kill her target, he'd said, was to fight her way through the front gate.

This, he told her, was her single greatest gift.

And also her weakness.

Grunting in memory of his tone, which had bordered on pity, the elf consciously slowed her pace even more. Took her time to feel out every change of air as though she might sense the slightest vibration of movement.

The warlock caught the sudden shift in pace and chewed nervously on a fingernail. “What is it?”

She kept her voice low and steady. “Ask me that again and I'll cut your tongue out through your throat. Feed it to you. I mean it, Chukshene.”

“Is that even possible?”
 

“Want to find out?”
 

“It's not high on my list of things to research.”
 

“Then shut the fuck up.”
 

He spat out a corner of nail and threw her a frustrated look. “I'm not like you, Nysta,” he said. “I don't move fast. I don't have a shitload of fucking knives to cut shit up with. I wouldn't know what to do with a sword. Or an axe. I'm not that kind of fighter. But I can fry your face off. I can summon a demon big enough to stomp on pretty much anything. But these kind of spells take time. Time to prepare. Time to cast. It helps if I know what the fuck is coming.”

“I'll think about telling you when I know.” She rubbed hard at the scar on her cheek as they approached another twist in the tunnel. Slid along the wall. Glanced sharply around the corner. Then, satisfied it was empty, led the way around. “Until then, 'lock, just shut the fuck up so I can listen.”
 

“I don't know what you're listening for,” he growled. “Can't hear anything over that fucking noise.”
 

And he was almost right. The drumming had grown loud enough that her ears were beginning to ring from the constant drone of it. But she could kind of make something else out in the background. Something familiar, but she couldn't pin down what it was. “Means we're getting closer,” she told him. “Think of the fun you're about to have making it dead.”

“What if it's already dead?”
 

“Then it's had a lot of practise dying, so should be easier to kill.”
 

“I don't think it works that way,” he said drily.
 

She frowned at the ground heading toward the next bend. More scuff marks of boots scrambling in patches of dust. Small pebbles flicked away as heavy footsteps scattered them this way and that.

And something else. A strange hollow sound. The drumming sounded different.

Crouching in front of the corner, she cast a quick glance at the warlock's glowing orb before deciding it was too late anyway to tell him to turn it off.

While it was just a hunch, she had a feeling the Twins were just around the corner. There were too many tracks in this area for them to have simply passed through. They must have doubled back, then doubled back again.

Perhaps they'd thought to run back to the fortress, then heard her coming and sought a fresh ambush. She figured the blasts of hot air must have unnerved them to the point they quickly decided to make a stand.

The warlock picked up on her fears and opened his book slowly. Mumbled lightly as he sifted through the pages.

Sliding
Go With My Blessing
and
Reasons to be Cheerful
free, she rolled her shoulders. Tilted her head to stretch her neck.
 

Sucked a breath.

And threw herself around the corner.

In that split second, she knew her mistake, but it was too late. Diving across the ground, she had time only to widen her eyes in surprise as the ground seemed to drop out from under her feet and sweep downward into a slippery incline. Desperately trying to fight gravity, the elf let out a yelp as she lost balance and pitched forward. Bounced heavily as she tumbled out of control.

Unable to stop, she felt a rush of fear as her eyes caught sight of a dark patch of ground at the base of the slope.

She kicked out, trying to slide to a halt. Her boot dragged hard across the ground and caught painfully on a thick chunk of stone jutting out of the ground. Yanked her around with a savage lurch that felt like she'd been punched in her hip. Gasping, she twitched in pain.