Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2) (24 page)

Brute strength was in his favour. And, as he moved, she realised he also had the speed to match.

Fear twitched in her belly as she sent
Go With My Blessing
spinning toward his face. He batted it aside with the axehead. Hardly even slowed as he swung the ghastly weapon through the air.
 

The heavy blade chopped down hard, splintering the floorboards where she'd been crouched only milliseconds before. With professional instinct, he didn't pause long enough for her to counter his attack. Tore the blade free and swung it backhand. The heavy flat edge of the blade glanced off the side of her head.

She saw stars and staggered backward. Felt her legs dream of buckling but fought it and managed to skip aside as his next strike chewed a massive hole in the wall beside her arm. Chips of plaster and wood sprayed like broken glass.

He rounded on her with frightening speed, lashing out with his boot. It connected hard into her hip. Sent her sprawling backward, arms wheeling as she once more had to battle to keep upright.

No Means No
spat through the air from her fingers. The large elf gave a shout and jerked away from the glittering blade. It shaved along his neck, leaving only the slightest scratch. Plunged quivering into the wall behind him.
 

His hand snapped to the wound and he grunted as his fingertips came away with a few small spots of red.

Suppressing disappointment, Nysta staggered away, bouncing off the wall as she tried to clear her brain of the shock from the blow to her head. Fresh blood ran freely down her forehead. Pain was like an audience, screaming at her from all sides.

“Fuck,” she spat another mouthful of blood onto the wall. It rolled thickly down the plaster.
 

Watching her back away, he lowered the axe slightly in disappointment of his own. Wiped his wrist across his mouth. “You ain't much of a raghead, are you? Guess Raste was right,” he said. “You're just some dumb fucking whore pretending to be something you ain't. Shame, really. I was looking forward to killing you. Our training with the Jukkala was hard. They really fuck with your mind. Wasn't a good time for me. Reckon they didn't know what they were turning me into, though. Didn't bet on me realising the truth about everything.”

For all his dismissive words, he kept his guard as he inched closer. She took a few shuffled steps back, aware there wasn't anywhere else to go.

The hall felt too tight. Too narrow to evade the axe. Most fighters wouldn't choose an axe as a weapon to fight with in such a narrow hallway. They'd need room to swing. But he was obviously comfortable with the narrow confines. And she figured he was trained for it. The elegance with which he held the weapon made her stomach churn.

She shifted her feet slightly, looking for a way past him. Back down the stairs.

But his eyes followed hers and he chuckled as realisation dawned in her eyes. “You ain't going nowhere, you Tainted bitch. Except to the Shadowed Halls. Be a cold place with no god to welcome you.” He lowered the head of the massive blade, angling it downward. “And that's the truth, raghead. Ain't nothing waiting for you. So why don't you be a good girl. Drop your knives. Get down on your knees. It ain't your fault, raghead. I'm the best there is. I fought at Logan's Run. Worse places, even. Reckon I'm better than Raste. On account I don't have his yellow streak. He hides it, but it's there. Me? I'm a fucking stone cold killer. It's what the Lord of Light likes about me, I guess. I can teach the rest of the Forgiven how to grow balls of their own. See, I got Musa training. And the Jukkala taught me more, so I know all your tricks. Know what you're thinking before you even think it.”

She said nothing. The cold ball of fear in her belly was frozen solid now. Too cold against her spine as his voice rippled in the air. He kept his axe moving now, slow gentle movements that followed her. Traced her pattern.
 

Obviously the forms of his training. But something about the way he moved reminded her of someone else.

Keeping her eyes firmly focussed on his feet, she tentatively tried the door handle next to her, hoping it would open into a room with more space.

Locked.

And the time it would take to break it would be the time it would take for him to split her down the middle.

He grinned. “Ain't no way out for you, raghead.” He made a beckoning motion with the axe. “Come on. I'm feeling generous today. Give it your best shot.”

Her mind raced and she tightened her grip on the blade as a memory floated out of the ether like the whisper of a ghost. “Ain't many who know how to use an axe like that these days.”

“I like to learn from the best.”
 

“Big ass ork axe like that? Hard fucking work. Beros teach you?”
 

He raised an eyebrow, but his body was still wary. “You know Beros?”

“Sure I knew Beros. Yeah.” She felt a trickle of hope squeeze into her spine as she began to spread out her cards. Prepare her play. “We met. Once or twice. Always loved the big toys. Axes. Greatswords. Ate too much garlic, though. If he hadn't lost his arm, he'd have taken Talek's place as Jutta's bodyguard, I hear.”
 

“Don't surprise me you knew him,” the large elf sneered. “Beros likes a good whore. Bet he left quite an impression. He was always rough with them.”
 

“Didn't leave me with any dents.” The elf shrugged casually. “Bet you're a lot like him, though.”
 

“Oh yeah? How's that?”
 

“Mostly armless.”
 

He didn't move, but his eyes burned brighter. He shifted his feet. Angled himself and prepared to move. “I'm gonna chop you into so many pieces, they won't know what you were.”

She took her chance.

Blurring forward, she ducked the angled blow and made to charge into his chest. His eyes widened in delight and he spun the axe in his strong hands to bring the thick shaft up, intending to crush her ribs with it. Then the blade would whip around in a half-moon and cleave into her flesh. It was a deft manoeuvre. One he'd spent years practising.

It took a great deal of speed to pull off. Even more strength. And he had it. In spades. It was the kind of move which had killed dozens before. Men who figured an axe was a fool's weapon. That it lacked finesse. Who figured the axehead was the only dangerous part. That he'd be too slow to counter any move. Figured an axe was just for cutting wood.

Triumph lit his face and he roared with glee. Already, he was counting another notch in his axe's blade. Another fool falling for his trick.

She felt the scream build in the back of her throat at thought of the heavy axehead chomping through her torso. Could see light flash off the blade as he twisted his body to finish his move.

But she'd known Beros, too.

Twisted on her heel in the final splintered moment and kicked sideways. Her body moved like a cracked whip. Her foot bounced against the side of the wall and she coiled in the air like a snake. The wound in her back howled sharply as she wrenched herself around his swing, feeling the handle blast past her ribs. Sucked her gut in.

And lay out her final card.

A Flaw in the Glass
plunged like a wyrm's fang into his bicep with a splash. She didn't have to use much force as she'd timed it so his arm was moving toward the savage blade anyway. It burst out the back of his arm with a gush of blood.
 

The knife sheared muscle and tendons, forcing the axe from his hands with a scream of horror and agony. Tubal staggered back, her knife still embedded in his arm to the hilt. Tripped over his own feet and pitched back, landing on his ass. Pressed against the wall.

Nysta stood over him as he stared in disbelief at the handle jutting from his arm.

His other hand hovered over the handle while his confused brain tried to figure out if he should pluck it free or not. “You fucking stabbed me,” he said in a voice so small it didn't seem to belong to him. “In my arm.”

He glanced up.

Then gasped as she pressed
Entrance Exam
to his cheek. Realising he was going to die, his eyes lost all sparkle.
 

There was no humour in her own frozen gaze as she smiled at him. “Like I told you,” she said, taking hold of
A Flaw in the Glass
and enjoying the roar of pain he let loose. Swatted his awkward attempt at a punch away. “I knew Beros.
Before
he lost his arm.”
 

And ripped the blade free with a savage twist that made him wail.

But not for long.

Functioning purely on spite,
A Flaw in the Glass
flared brightly as it plunged into his mouth. It clipped teeth and tongue and tore through the back of his skull to pin him to the wall. The big elf thrashed, one arm flapping uselessly against her chest. The other clawing at her, desperately trying to push her away.
 

She laughed in his face as he died, his teeth clamping down on the enchanted blade. Laughed even as her heart was breaking at the thought that though she was getting the revenge she'd craved, nothing she was doing was bringing Talek back to her.

He was still back on their homestead, lying in the frozen ground.

And that only served to reignite the anger she'd been feeling before her fear of the large elf's axe had swallowed it. Vengeance, she told herself, wasn't over yet.

Blinded with rage, she spun away. “Raste!”

A quick search of the other rooms yielded nothing, and the elf felt her frustration filling her to the brim as she found what was obviously Raste's room. But the red-haired elf was nowhere to be seen.

Her shoulder was beginning to throb to the sullen drumbeat of agony, and she realised she was leaving a steady red trail behind her. She winced, willing the blood to stop flowing. Couldn't count on any miracle of healing she may have been infected with. So guessed it wouldn't stop until she managed to do something about it.

But she didn't have time.

Footsteps outside made her spin on her heels.

“Raste!” she howled. “Where the fuck are you, you motherfucking son of a bitch?”
 

The door to the inn downstairs banged as she dashed to the top of the stairs. Saw more Grey Jackets pouring into the inn, shouting to each other. One grey-clad soldier looked up the stairs. Saw her standing with her shoulder hanging low. Pointed at her with his hatchet. “Up here!”

They piled toward the stairs and a few arrows thudded into the bannister near her hand.

Angrily, she flung herself back into Raste's room. Kicked the door shut and bolted it. Rubbed her side where blood was seeping from the wound in her back. Her fingers, wet and glistening red.

Wiped the blood on the wall, leaving a swift line of spidery elf runes.

Heard Chukshene's voice screaming wildly outside the inn. She tossed a small chair through the window, shattering glass, and stuck her head out. He was running down the street toward the inn, robes flapping behind him. His fists glowed with arcane fire and he sent a fireball screaming out behind him to take out a small clutter of pursuing Grey Jackets.

They didn't die pleasantly.

But there were many more behind them, sprinting down the street on a tide of grey. These ones were a better equipped than those who'd guarded the gates. Their mail armour glinted and swords flashing eagerly as they roared toward the fleeing warlock. A few archers knelt behind, notching arrows to their bows.

“Nysta!” he shrieked, running past. He was breathing fast and his face was red. Streams of sweat down his cheeks. “A fucking cleric! There's a fucking cleric on the loose! Get your skinny ragged ass out here!”
 

“Shit.” She launched herself through the broken window as the Grey Jackets kicked the door down behind her. Fell hard to the street below and rolled painfully. Her ankle nearly gave way as she sprinted behind him, leaving an orchestra of shouts in her wake. Together, they headed for the still-abandoned gates.
 

A blast of white light beamed past as the cleric tried to bring them down.

“Lucky his aim's worse than mine,” the warlock spat. “He might be fucking useless, but he managed to dismiss my fucking demon before it could fuck his head off. Bastard! I was starting to enjoy myself. You get them all?”
 

“Nope. Missed one. The important one.”
 

“Fuck!” He shielded his face with his arm as a nearby wall was hit by the cleric's blast and exploded. Chips of wood and stone spat at them. An arrow splashed into the ground between her feet.
 

They made the gate and powered out toward the relative shelter of the forest of fossilised trees. She figured they'd be able to lose the Grey Jackets if they kept going. The soldiers had been shocked too hard by the demon.

She paused only once, looking over her shoulder at the town as the soldiers charged from the gates, weapons high.

She couldn't see Raste among them.

“Come on,” the warlock hissed, tugging at her jacket. “What happened to you, anyway?”
 

“Raste wasn't in there,” she said as they dodged between the first line of brittle trees.
 

“Fuck him, then. We can't go back,” he said firmly. “Not now.”
 

“Ain't planning to,” she told him.
 

He ducked under a low branch only at the last second before it would have broken his face. “You've given up then? On killing him?” He sounded surprised.

“Nope.”
 

“Then I don't get it.”
 

Her arm felt heavy. Everything felt heavy. Blood ran slick down her back. But the air was crisp and cold. So, despite the pain dragging at her, she felt fresh. And alive.

She pushed the warlock toward the hill, heading back to where they'd rested for the night. As they ran, she told him what she'd written on the wall. In her blood.

His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure about this? I mean, are you sure he'll read it? And even if he does, why would he bother coming? He could just walk away. Head south and sing fuck you, Nysta. Or send soldiers. Lots of soldiers. What'd you do to convince him? Piss on his pillow? And you wrote in blood? What's with that? Couldn't find ink?”