Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2) (20 page)

Real fucking big.

Hot on her trail, the wave of wisps smashed hard into the wall and seemed to take a moment to recover as a collective before lunging at the fleeing elf.

Her face was manic as she bore down on the hut. Legs like rubber as she pushed herself faster and faster to keep out of reach of the sparks.

The glowing swarm screamed behind her, sparks spraying in its wake like burning wings.

The warlock's face snapped up.

He wanted to shout at her. Demand she keep away. He wasn't ready.

But he dared not stop casting.

Not then.

Not with the glow of magic swirling around him. If he stopped, it would consume him.

But he couldn't tell her that.

Horrified, he watched her leap the window to roll into the hut. Skid to a panting halt in front of him. Tear a grin across her face and announce; “One second!”

The swarm reared high above the hut, preparing to crash down and smother them in a surging wave of light.

And, with terror clenching his heart firmly in his throat, he screamed the last word of power.

Wondered if it worked. He couldn't feel anything but empty as his magic drained away.

Had it worked?

Of course it had.

Maybe.

Still, nothing had happened.

He looked up at the glowing lights. They burned so bright he had to squeeze his eyes shut.

The spell hadn't worked. He was going to die.

“I-”
 

His words were cut off by the crack of thunder directly overhead. Thunder which split the sky apart. A ball of fire, hurled from the rip in the sky, tore toward the earth, smashing to the ground in the centre of the ruin.

The elf threw him down as the blast sent rock and debris flying through the air. A few wisps, caught in the savage explosion, flared brightly and died, falling wetly to the ground.

The buzzing swarm was rocked backward in the shockwave, before shivering in place as though unsure what to do. But was then drawn once more to the loudest sound - that of dozens of howling creatures emerging from the smoking crater.

“What the fuck are they?” the elf squinted through the dust.
 

The warlock struggled to sit up. Adjusted his robes and pounded his grimoire with a thoroughly ecstatic fist. “Gremlins!”

Small, nasty, and with needle teeth, they bounded from the ground and hooted hungrily as they caught sight of the incoming swarm. Delighted by the lights, the little demons rushed forward to greet them, swiping at the wisps with shrieks of demented pleasure. Snatching them from the air, they stuffed the glowing wisps into their mouths and snapped their jaws down hard.

Bright green juice exploded over their lips even as sparks ignited inside their cheeks.

At first they seemed happy to chew on the wisps, but quickly started clawing at their cheeks as the glowing blood ate into their flesh like acid. Their bellies swelled and their skin melted and twisted before breaking open with ugly bursts which left their guts smoking on the ground, entwined with the glowing blood of dead wisps.

The elf winced as she caught sight of one gremlin hopping around trying to hold his dissolving jaw closed.

Dancing in an orgy of pain and self-destruction, the rest kept trying to eat every glowing wisp before the acid completely ate through their heads. Even as they fell and lay squirming on the ground, they snatched at the air, drunk on violence and the drive to eat more of the glowing swarm.

The flurry of movement, howls, and screams worked to keep the swarm of lights whirling around the crazed gremlins and the elf dragged the sniggering warlock to his feet. Shoved him over the closest wall and toward the field, aiming to get as far from the ruins as possible. Heading south.

“Great spell. I love those guys. I thought they'd last longer, though,” the warlock sighed. “I didn't expect wisp blood to do that to them.”
 

“You should've known better,” the elf said with a shrug.
 

“How could I?” he scowled. “I've never summoned them before.”
 

“Gremlins, Chukshene,” she drawled. “Bright lights ain't good for them.”
 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The last of the wisps flickered and died, but the elf didn't turn to watch.

She led the warlock across the smooth stone field which reflected moonlight like pale marble. Her mind turned over the events of the past few days as she tried to focus herself again. The wagoners, brutally put down.

The ork, Rockjaw, left bleeding. And the Fat Man pursued by Draug. More victims of the Deadlands.

Gaket, writhing in the cords of darkness fashioned from the very fabric of a long-dead goddess' soul.

A cage, opening its fathomless jaws to spill an ocean of shadow into her veins.

Draug howling for meat.

The creature with his chains laughing as he contemplated a single word whispered into his ear. The wisps guarding the exit, dying in explosive flashes of light.

In the few days since Talek's murder, she'd repaid the Deadlands in kind many times over. But none of it meant anything.

And what about Fenis? Torak and Neckless? The Twins?

Sure, they mattered. But not enough. Not enough to satisfy the ache brewing in her heart.

An ache which wouldn't go away until Raste bled the last drop of blood from his dead body.

But she was close. So close she could almost taste the son of a bitch.

“You still want to do this?” the warlock asked quietly. “Knowing they know you're coming?”
 

The elf gave a curt nod. “I owe it to him. To Talek. And to myself. We've come this far, 'lock. Spilled a lot blood getting here. Some of it mine. Maybe took on something else. Something worse. But I'll pay any price right now to get Raste. Spill all my blood. Take any curse. Killing that red-haired fuck is all that matters.” She felt the hard wooden box sitting coolly in her pocket. Considered the warlock's promise to find out what it had contained. And, if it had cursed her, then what she could do to be rid of it. Grunted; “Fuck it. I don't feel any different anyway.”

The field ended abruptly, sliding downward in an easy slope. The trees clinging to the side of the shattered mountain were mostly dead. But here and there one still lived precariously. They were close. The town of Grimwood Creek hovered right on the edge of the border.

They stood together at the top, looking down into the dark. A glint of light far out on the horizon drew her gaze and held it. Somewhere, possibly between her and the shining beacon which was Grimwood Creek, Raste was breathing.

“We'll need some rest, first,” he said. “It's going to be a tough day tomorrow, I'm guessing.”
 

“Reckon so.” She glanced at him, and saw not the weak apprentice she'd taken him for. Saw instead a powerful spellslinger. A warlock capable of summoning creatures from the foulest pits of the Shadowed Halls. A man with more secrets than she had knives. But one who'd done his share of killing. And more.
 

Whatever his reasons, they were his reasons now. She no longer cared. Already suspected him of using her in some fashion, but felt obliged to hold onto the thin thread of trust they'd tied around each other.

So, she tucked her thumbs over the hilts of
A Flaw in the Glass
and
Kindness
and let her shoulders relax. Felt the knots unwind slowly. Stifled a yawn. And said; “You don't have to come with me if you don't want. I can get him on my own.”
 

“I believe you,” he said. “And I'm sure I'll get in the way. But you led me this far. And though I've got nothing to do with your search for revenge, Nysta, I told you I understand it. I had help getting mine, too. I wasn't able to pay out that debt. Maybe this can go toward it.”
 

She didn't understand the reference, but she understood the sentiment. Clapped him on the shoulder and nodded. “Obliged.” She looked back out at the gleaming dot. “But you leave Raste, 'lock. You leave him and his men for me. No matter what else you do, you remember that.”

“I will.”
 

“Good. Then we'll get to Grimwood Creek by late morning, I reckon. I'll kill Raste and the rest of his assholes. And anyone who gets in my way. Then we head our separate ways. Nothing more owed.”
 

“Nothing more owed,” he echoed.
 

There was something soft in his voice, but she chose to ignore it.

Instead scratched at her scalp as she headed toward a twisted tree winding uncomfortably from the rocky earth. Long dead, it'd left a hollow curved against the sharp wind. She kicked the loose rubble out and squatted beside it.

“We'll bed down here,” she said. “Don't want to use a fire just in case that bastard's slinking around here somewhere in the dark. I doubt it, but best to be sure.”
 

The warlock accepted without argument and tossed his pack into the hollow before settling back against it with a sigh. “Grim's teeth, I ache all over,” he said.

“Think you ache today, 'lock?” She squeezed in beside him to share any feeble warmth their bodies had managed to hold back from the wind. “Wait until tomorrow.”
 

He curled his legs up against his chest and rested his grimoire across his knees. Put his head down across the book and looked like a dog staring into the dark.

Restless of mind, the elf looked down at her hands. They didn't look much different. Still a little sticky. Whose blood, she couldn't tell. But there was nowhere to wash them. So she would smell of old death in the morning.

Something crawled up her side and she rubbed at it, hoping it died beneath her fingers. Didn't feel anything else move, so pushed herself further back against the hollow and listened to the warlock's breathing. It didn't take long for his slow shallow breathing to break into long jagged snores.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes, leaned back and looked up at the moon doing its best to dodge the clouds.

When she finally slept, she dreamt of Talek.

Of his face before it had been twisted by magefire. Of his hands, brushing her cheek.

An apple, dipped in a cold mountain stream.

His laughter.

The way he moved.

And, finally, his mouth. Warm against her own.

She woke with tears frozen on her chin and scrubbed them away with a grunt as she pushed out of the hollow. Stood in a thin patch of snow and stared out at the cruel landscape. Clearer to see in the cold light of day. Harsh grey stone and more shale formed a twisted wreckage leading to the town. More patches of white littered the grey, masking the echoes of violence with the pretence of purity.

On one side of the border, the Deadlands with its blasted landscape and a thin silvery creek of water creasing the mountains. And on the other, a lush forest hinting at what the Deadlands might have been before the gods chose to make war.

She wanted to head toward the creek, beckoned by the cool promise of washing the blood from her clothes. From her skin. But revenge had the greater pull, so she swung her gaze back to the town.

And couldn't stop thinking about the streets of Lostlight.

The smell of garbage, piss, and blood.

How much she'd endured. The pampered child she'd been when pushed to the streets had so quickly had all her dreams shattered. How she'd learnt the savagery of self needed just to survive. Just the thought of all she'd suffered made her want to vomit.

Want to cry.

Want to kill.

And then Talek. A vivid change of paths guided by his hand. A path which so cleanly channelled all that savagery into something she could almost believe could wipe the stains free.

But killing for her Jadean would never clean her soul.

And so the fragile dream had broken.

And broken again, at the hands of Raste.

Her fists balled tightly at her side, the elf felt the bitter wind cut across her skin. Whipped at her hair. The heavy grey clouds reflected the darkness of her mood.

Given the way her luck had travelled, it was only inevitable they would clash again. She should have known that. Should have guessed. Should have drawn the blade across his throat when she had the chance.

Slowly, the elf wiped her eyes and studied the ground leading toward the town.

Picking her path.

The quickest path.

Toward a town which had been built by orks hundreds of years ago. Built on the furthest reaches of Grim's once mighty empire. Now a bordertown used by smugglers and thieves.

A town of opportunity, if you wanted it to be.

A town of greed.

A town of hate.

And, today, she thought grimly, that town would bleed.

“Can't we sleep a little longer?” The warlock rubbed at his red eyes and let out a moan. His face looked swollen and groggy as he slid awkwardly from the hollow. Put his book down on his pack. The first time she'd seen him deliberately set it aside.
 

He yawned. Blinked some more. Looked at her blankly.

“Town's just down there, 'lock,” she told him. “Walk a few hours and you can sleep in the inn.”
 

“Yeah?” he yawned again. Peered out toward the town. Noticed a few small ghosts of smoke rising over the walls. “I'll believe that when it happens. Tell me, Long-ear. You ever met a town you didn't destroy? Looks warm, though, I'll admit. I could use warm.”
 

The elf thought of Raste's blood gushing over her fist and her grin was cruel. “Yeah, me too.”

But a more exciting thought had occurred to him. “And food!” He spun back toward the hollow with sudden energy. Grabbed at his pack. Hugged his grimoire close, hitched his robe, and began dancing down the hill. “Come on, Nysta! Food! Real food! Potatoes. Bread. Meat. I'm gonna eat a whole fucking cow! Maybe a pig, too. And a chicken. Wash it down with wine. No. Rum! Maybe ale. And then I'm gonna fuck the barmaid until her brains shoot out through her eyes! Fuck. Come on, Long-ear! What are you waiting for? Can't you smell it? That's food!”

She watched as he slid down the hill and shook her head, bemused by the sudden shift in attitude. “You ain't all there, are you, 'lock?” she called.