Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2) (22 page)

She nodded and led the way, sprinting toward the shattered gates. Leaping over the rubble, she angled toward her left. Aiming for the first few shacks. The warlock struggled to catch up, but made no vocal complaints, for which she was grateful.

Ducking behind a low wall, they looked over at where the demon was smashing his way into the town. It tore through the side of a large house, spewing curses in its foul language.

Thick yellow smoke followed, curling around its hooves and winding around its legs like ribbons of acid.

She could smell its stench. Like rot churning on an ocean of kerosene. And something else. Something animal.

It charged a group of Grey Jackets who'd decided to make a stand. Endured a small flurry of arrows and raked out with the spear. Impaled one soldier who shrieked horribly as the barbed spear slid through his body. Sliced the soldier's stunned companions to pieces with its long claws.

Blood showered the walls and the demon roared in triumph. Scooped up a handful of entrails and shoved them into its gaping maw. Swallowed without chewing and moved on.

“Not the nicest of eating habits,” the warlock muttered, a little sickly.
 

She watched it chase down a few more fleeing soldiers and shrugged. “Fast food ain't ever been pretty.”

Moving deeper into the town, they followed the demon's rampage while trying to avoid the many soldiers scurrying in frightened groups by keeping to the edges of the mayhem.

She pushed Chukshene down an alley, steering him toward the heart of the town where she knew the town's inn would promise the most likely place Raste would have holed himself up in. Given the fragile nature of the many shacks nailed against each other within the town walls, the inn would be the only one with any real hope of keeping her out.

And Raste would very much be wanting to keep her out right now.

He'd quickly guess the demon chewing its way through the Grey Jackets' ranks was just a distraction.

But any real hope of surprising the surviving mercenaries was quickly dwindling as she struggled to navigate the knot of alleys. Because although the town had once been built by orks, the military order they'd imposed on the original design had been perverted by years of modifications made by smugglers and thieves. The alleys twisted and turned. Some were dead ends. Others made to trap the unwary.

Spitting curses, the elf was forced to constantly double back.

Frustration ate at her heart. The warlock considered offering suggestions, but the fury evident in her very bones kept him silent. Instead, he stumbled along behind her, constantly glancing down at his grimoire.

Lost in his growing fear that Grey Jackets would plunge into the alley and begin cutting them to pieces, he nearly had a heart attack when she whirled on him suddenly, wrenched him around and slammed him hard against the wall. Slapped a hand over his mouth and glared so hard he thought her gaze might spear his brain.

A solider's voice; “-fucking Tainted bitch brought it with them. I'm fucking sure of it!”

Chukshene nodded and the elf removed her hand to draw a second knife.

“Wouldn't surprise me,” another said thickly. “But fuck this. I'm getting the fuck out of here.”
 

“We've got to warn Raste! She could be here.”
 

“You warn him. I'm fucking gone-”
 

“Not yet, you ain't,” the elf muttered as the two figures darted into the alley. They moved too fast to notice her immediately.
 

Not until her arm slashed out of the shadows. The first dropped,
Fulci's Last Joke
buried deep in his chest. Her boot smashed hard into his throat to kill the scream before it could begin.
 

The other Grey Jacket let out a squeal, but the sound was quickly strangled as
A Flaw in the Glass
sheared the air and pressed hard against the man's cheek. The cruel point hovered neatly over his pupil and the venomous green glow served to drive fear into the man as swiftly as if she'd stabbed him with it.
 

“Where are they?” She hissed into his face like a serpent.
 

His eyes snapped down to the body of his crumpled friend and widened as a thick puddle of blood spread quickly toward his feet. Yelping, he tried to lift his boots to get away, but the elf slammed her other fist into his gut. He doubled over, but she jerked him upright and pressed hard against him, feeling his terror.

“What was that for?” He squeezed his words out. “I got nothing against you.”
 

“I don't feel the same, short-ear,” she sneered. Pressed the belly of the blade harder against his jaw, forcing him to look up at her. “I got a big fucking something against you, if you get my meaning?”
 

“I got you,” he whined. “Please don't kill me. I'll tell you.”
 

“Don't tell her,” his companion gasped.
 

The elf gently raised one of her feet and leaned back slightly. Without looking down at the dying man, she pressed her boot firmly against his chest. “You still alive down there, fuckface?”

“Fuck you, you Tainted slut.”
 

“I wouldn't push her if I were you,” Chukshene advised.
 

“Fuck you, too, spellslinger.”
 

“Well,” he shrugged. “Your funeral.”
 

The elf kept her gaze on the man trapped against the wall. She wanted to kill him so bad. The hate she felt for Caspiellans surged through her veins, though she couldn't even begin to say why.

It was, she decided, simply the fate of two warring armies to mirror the hates of their gods. Even if their gods were dead.

“Tell me where they are. And don't make me ask again.”
 

“I won't!” He licked his lips. “Look. I never wanted to be a soldier, right? But I ain't got a choice. I tell you, Tainted One, I ain't never killed nobody. Never wanted to, neither. Live and let live, yeah? So, I'll tell you. And you let me go. I won't say anything to nobody. I'm gone. I just want out of this place. I mean, have you seen that shit walking around out there? It's eating people! Fuck! I just want to go home.”
 

The wounded man shuddered under her boot. “Shut the fuck up. You fucking useless piece of shit! You don't deserve His forgiveness.”

The young man in her grip grimaced. “Don't even know what it means no more, Spirik,” he said softly. “Lady, the feller you're looking for? Raste? He's in the inn last I heard. Him and his friends. General hoped to ship them out tomorrow morning. Was just waiting for a few more to arrive, he said.”

“Shouldn't have waited,” the wounded man moaned. “We should have left. You killed them. Didn't you, you Tainted bitch? You fucking killed them. Ah, Neckless.”
 

She looked down, the cruel grin stretching wide. “Well,” she breathed. “Well, well. Spirik. Yes. I remember now. Neckless gave me your name. Right before I killed him.”

He tried to spit on her, but lacked the strength to spit properly. The bloodied globule ran down his chin instead. “Piss on you, raghead.”

“We've got to hurry, Nysta.” Chukshene stepped past her toward the mouth of the alley and the fresher air it hopefully contained.
 

The elf looked back at the young soldier. “Obliged for the information,” she said.

He smiled weakly. “Hey, no prob-”

And died as
A Flaw in the Glass
shoved itself up under his ribs and ripped into his heart. With a flick of her wrist, she tore the blade free and stepped back, letting the body slide wetly to the alley floor where clean blood mingled with filth.
 

Then dropped beside Spirik. Saw he was only inches from death. Jerked his head back roughly and stared into his eyes. Relished the feel of his dying.

“Seems this is how I keep finding you fellers,” she observed. “Fenis. Torak. Now, you. On your bellies and choking on blood. No wonder they called you the Bloody Nine.”
 

“They'll kill you, raghead,” he gasped. “Raste and Tubal. Maybe the new kid. And the Jukkala trained us, remember? We know your ways. Be three of us left. Only one of you.”
 

“Wouldn't count on that,” she said. And plunged
A Flaw in the Glass
hard into Spirik's throat, tearing sideways. He tried to scream, but the sound was a bubble of agony in a world of noise.
 

Recovering her blades, she absently tore a small strip from Spirik's vest and shoved it in a pouch. Slid up beside the warlock, who refused to look back at the bodies sprawled across the alley floor.

“That'd be the inn,” he said, pointing toward a large building. Two levels high, it loomed over anything else in the area. She could see the swinging sign and wide doors. Further down the opposite end of the street, the demon rampaged, surrounded by Grey Jackets trying to keep their distance and failing. “I'd guess your guys are in there if they're smart.”
 

“Reckon so,” she allowed.
 

“You're going that way, then?”
 

“Yeah.”
 

“Then I'll head this way,” he said, jerking a thumb toward the demon. “Try to keep them busy.”
 

The elf shot him a surprised look. “Why?”

“Why what?”
 

“Why stay? You can leave now, Chukshene. That demon's going to unsummon itself any minute now. You'll be left fighting soldiers. Soldiers with arrows. They might be shitting themselves because of your pet. But I don't reckon you'll get the same respect. Good chance you won't make it. Like to know why you're fighting. Because I know you don't killing, 'lock. Not face to face. Not like this. Maybe the thought of turning Caspiellans into mincemeat seemed great when you were a kid, only now you're looking reality in its face. And it ain't pretty.”
 

“It's like I told you before, Long-ear. Maybe it's because I'm a weapon,” he said. His eyes skimmed the corpses. The demon roared once more, making the buildings shake with the force of it. “And it's what I was made to do. Even if I don't like it. I'm betting if we can wipe out the Grey Jackets right here, maybe we can stop them from heading north for a while. Buy ourselves some time. Time to regroup. To pull our shit together. With the Dark Lord fallen, we're being pulled apart. We've got to get back together. Get our strength. Rebuild our armies. If Rule brings his forces to the Wall this year, we'll be done. And that's a fact. So, right now, the way I look at it, it's them or us. And I told you once before, Nysta. Any Fnord would die before bending a fucking knee to Rule.”
 

She sighed. “I've heard that talk before, 'lock. But the Four Kingdoms is big. And it's got a god. What've we got, Chukshene? Rule's just taking his time. Nothing we can do can stop him. Not now.”

“Thinking that way is why your guys are over there. Huddled in that fucking inn waiting for you. They're thinking that way, Long-ear. That the only way to live is to give in. You feel the same? You think we should just roll over? Take it in the guts? Die without a fight?”
 

“I'll die with my knife in some feller's throat, 'lock. Two fellers if I get time. But I ain't much for causes. I gave up on those a long time ago. These days, I stick my neck out for nobody.”
 

“Then Rule will destroy us all.”
 

“Ah, that's bullshit.” She spat a stream of wet against the wall. Juggled two expressions on her face. One of contempt and another of impatience as she eyed the inn with revenge burning in her guts. “One person ain't worth shit. Especially me. Takes armies to kill armies, 'lock. And they've got four big fucking armies. I ain't a hero. And I ain't good at being noble, so it don't take much to see that one lone elf can't kill a hill of beings in this crazy world.”
 

“Doesn't matter what you say,” he said with a grin. “Only what you do. Who knows? Maybe one little thing we do might end up saving us all? You know, everyone always said I'd end up amounting to nothing. But here I am. Feeling like I'm something. Protecting the whole of the Fnordic Lands. Just me. And you, of course, Long-ear. You're a great help.”
 

“Thanks.”
 

“You're welcome.”
 

She gave in and slapped him on the back. “You'll be alright? You ain't the quickest spellslinger I've seen.”

“I'll be fine. I wasn't even trying. Wasn't warm.”
 

A few soldiers burst from an ally nearby. Crazed with fear, they pounded down the street away from the demon.

Chukshene drew his lips back into a determined snarl and spat words of power. Words which boiled the air. A blast of magefire roared from his fist, engulfing the men and flaring so hot it left nothing behind except ashes floating down to the street. Eyes wide, he turned toward her. “Go. Get them. Wear out your knives on their bones. I'll bring this fucking town down around their fucking ears.”

“Should raise a few cheers,” she said. Lifted
A Flaw in the Glass
in salute. Rolled her shoulders. “Ready?”
 

“Born ready,” he said. “Winning, even.”
 

“Big words, 'lock. See if you can live up to them.”
 

“You'll see,” he yelled, dashing from the alley. “Watch how a warlock fights! Today, I don't give a shit what they say. I'm worth more than any fucking mage!”
 

“Sure, Chukshene,” she called back. “You're the better part of two and a half men.”
 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Fenis.

Torak. Neckless.

The Twins.

Spirik.

Six of the Bloody Nine were already dead. Four to her blade. But none had died with any real satisfaction. None had put up a fight. And it was the fight she craved. The bloody pummelling of their bodies. The thrill of cutting them to ribbons while spitting her hate in their faces. Revenge, she knew, wasn't meant to be easy.

She needed Raste.

Needed him dead.