Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2) (7 page)

Scrambling faster as they caught sight of the desperate pair, the Draug possessed no plan short of using their overwhelming numbers of rabid mouths. A simple tactic, but brutally effective.

A Flaw in the Glass
hummed as she spun it in her fingers. Sprinting ahead, she ignored the warlock's cry for her stay close. Instead, sped forward, scouting the dark places between several massive boulders crumbling against each other.
 

Slowing only when she was certain there was nothing haunting the immediate area, she tried to push her fear of the approaching Draug aside and keep herself focussed on reaching the ruined fortress in the distance.

Hoped that it was more or less intact and that somewhere inside the buckled walls was a building they could barricade themselves in.

But the adrenaline pumping through her veins wasn't working in anticipation of a happy ending to the night, so she felt the thrill of danger take her to within a splinter of going berserk. She wiped sweat from her face and worked spit into her dry mouth.

Spat at her feet as the warlock nearly barrelled into her.

“Can we kill them?” He grabbed her shoulder to hold himself up. Grabbed loud mouthfuls of air.
 

Allowing him the chance to catch his breath, she shook her head. “Can't kill Draug.”

“What?”
 

“They're already dead. Reckoned you would've known that, 'lock. Ain't undead your speciality?”
 

“Demons,” he whined. “I know about demons. There's a difference. Fucking undead? Simple. Just burn them. Got to burn them.”
 

“Fine. Spin us up some fireballs. You'll only need a few dozen, I figure. Couple hundred at most.”
 

“You know I can't.”
 

“Then best we get to the fortress. It's all we've got. Stop them from swamping us, and we'll be fine. They give up quick if we ain't taunting them.”
 

“Taunting them? What the fuck? How the fuck am I taunting them? I didn't say anything about their mothers! Not a fucking thing.” He screwed his face up. Looked far beyond exhausted. “Do they even
have
mothers?”
 

“You're taunting them by being alive, Chukshene. And not being in their stomachs.” Then, allowing she wasn't one for stirring motivational speeches, she aimed a kick at his ass and shoved him in the back. “So lift that fucking skirt and keep running!”
 

“Bitch!” His scowl creased his face like a bolt of lightning.
 

“Save your breath!”
 

“How far?”
 

She peered ahead, eyes squinting through the mist which seemed to thicken around the walls. Thin curls of mist were hovering around some of the rocks and boulders, making any guess of the distance uncertain. But she reckoned they were close.

“Not far,” she decided. “Few minutes.”
 

“And how close,” his breath came in jagged gasps. “Are they?”
 

“Not far,” she said. A curtain of mist loomed in front of her nose. She was struck by its resemblance to a spider's web. But pushed her fears aside. It was just mist, she told herself. It was going to be wet and cold. That's all. She forced a grin. “Few minutes.”
 

“Shit.”
 

The grin left her face as she entered the mist. Wisps chilled her skin and she sucked a gasp as the acrid stink made her skid to a panicked stop. Settling into a defensive stance, she jerked the blade sharply in front of her face to guard against any sudden attack.

An attack which didn't come, but which the elf could swear she could taste like a vibration in the air.

The warlock stumbled, nearly bumping into her. “What now?” he moaned.

“Can't you smell it?” she hissed.
 

“Smell what?”
 

“Magic!”
 

“Is it?” He lifted his head. Sweat gleamed like a second skin across his face. His nose had turned pink. He brushed her aside with a snort and continued forward. “Nothing. Just a harmless enchantment.  Whoever put it here liked a misty home, maybe.”
 

“I don't like it,” she scowled.
 

“Then hold your fucking breath.” He took a few steps, shuddering visibly as another howl ripped through the air. Glanced at her. “You coming? Or staying here?”
 

Diving further into the mist with a growl, she felt it drift around her like a wave of spirits reaching for her face. Though they had no power to hold her, they still ignited ominous shivers between her shoulders.

And the smell of magic was so bitter it threatened to scorch her nostrils and make her brain bleed.

Looming out of the frost-dusted boulders, the old fortress looked like the collapsed bones of an ancient beast. The walls, while crumpled, were still mostly intact.

They'd have a hard time climbing them, so would need to hope the gates weren't as closed as they looked. Deep vertical scars sliced up the stone as though something had been raking at the outer face of the outer walls with massive claws. But she knew of no beast with claws so large, so dismissed that thought as fantasy.

A thick crack split the ground around around the edge like an empty moat. A moat too thin to be effective, so she couldn't fathom its purpose and didn't have time to study it before they jumped easily across.

Her eyes narrowed as the elf felt a chill slice up from the depths of both the eerie hole in the ground and the frozen ball of fear in her gut.

Creasing her brow, Nysta scratched at the palm of her hand and pressed her hand against the overwhelmingly large rusted gates. She didn't think the old iron smell was just from the gates.  Broken bones were crushed hard into the ground all around gates. A lot of blood, then, had been spilled here.

The Gates themselves had long since twisted off their massive hinges, but still remained firmly in place. At first there seemed no way through. But then they noticed where the gates met, the ancient metal had been warped by relentless force. It wasn't much, but there was a small gap.

A gap through which the warlock grunted as he tried to press himself between.

Fuelled by desperation to escape the Draug, the warlock's teeth chattered in fear. His robe tore on a sharp edge of metal. A curse blew out through his lips, but he still kept trying to shove himself inside.

Irritated, she raised her boot and stamped on his hip to push him inside. Ignoring his startled cry, she threw a glance over her shoulder. Saw the Draug had stopped just outside the curtain of mist.

Some clawed at the ground in frustration.

Others paced the edges like prowling cats. Their mournful howls were channelled in her direction.

Fear rippled across her flesh like a wave of insects. Snatching the warlock's robe, she made to pull him back out. But he wriggled loose and rolled out the other side. Let out a yelp of triumph before sticking his face back into the gap between the gates. Shoved his hand out for her to grasp, intending to help her through. “What are you waiting for?” he cried. “Get the fuck in here!”

“They're not following,” she breathed, not taking his offered hand. Her violet eyes flashed as a dull noise rumbled deep below their feet.
 

“What?” he yelled, his voice sounded hollow.
 

“I said they're not following us anymore!” She shouted back. “They're just standing there!”
 

“So? That's good enough for me!”
 

“You don't understand. They're fucking dead!”
 

“And I, for one, am fucking glad they are! Just wish they'd stay that way!”
 

“You stupid fucking spellslinger!” She tried to grab him again. Drag him back outside as the grinding sound deep below grew louder than thunder. The tearing sound bubbled under the earth and seemed echoed in the shivering cliffs. Whatever was happening, it wasn't going to be good. “Can't you hear that? They're too fucking afraid to come in here! What the fuck would scare a Draug?”
 

He paused, turning slowly toward the inside of the fortress. Then back at her. Eyes wide and sparkling bright with fear. The ground quaked and the heavy gates moaned under the shifting pressures. “Umm, Nysta? I think we should get out of here.”

“Oh, you think?” She put one hand on her hip. Sarcasm dripped like acid. “Any more wisdom, oh great fucking one?”
 

“There's something here.” His face paled. “Shit. Why didn't I see it before? It's bad. Oh, Nysta, it's fucking bad.”
 

“I told you there was something here,” she growled. “You said it was a simple fucking enchantment.”
 

He shook his head and clawed at the gap, trying to drag himself back outside. “No no no. It's bad. Fucking bad. That enchantment was hiding it. This place. It's something else. A trap, maybe. And we're the mice. Run. Run!”

She turned to run, but the ground lurched wildly beneath her feet. The crack they'd so easily jumped only a few minutes before suddenly split open like a mouth beneath her feet. She felt the lash of dread as she realised they couldn't make the other side.

Then from the black depths, a scream. Not the scream of a living thing, but one as though the rock itself was shrieking in pain. Steam poured upward. A foul-smelling sulphuric steam from the deepest bowels of the earth.

She had to scramble up against the gates to avoid falling into the chasm and her boots slid across the buckling stone.

The Draug howled and started running back toward the trees, barking crazily to each other in a tone which left no doubt in the elf's mind they were afraid. And probably with good reason.

Thick black sludge bubbled out of the chasm. It fizzed and spat, smoke pouring from the ground where it touched. The elf fought for balance, desperate to get her feet out of the way. Chukshene chose that moment to shove her in the back, still trying to get out.

“No!” she cried. Twisted around to face him. “Back! Get fucking back!”
 

His head poked out through the gap, followed by an arm as he wriggled like a maggot from meat. “Inside? Are you mad?”

The elf's words were spat between her teeth. “Not yet, but I'm getting there.”

And with a gush of slime, foul-smelling ribs of rough black stone powered out of the ground like the fingers of an insectoid god clawing at the old fortress. Each rib as thick as several tree trunks lashed together.

She shot a curse and shoved the stunned warlock back inside before corkscrewing through the gap between the shuddering gates. Felt the wall brush against her heels as she squirmed inside.

Chukshene rattled out a few curses of his own as slime rained down around him. He had to dance around to avoid being splashed. Where it touched stone, it melted clean through on a blanket of smoke. Drilling back into the earth which was its home.

The heavy ribs screeched as they raked the cold stone walls outside. A tidal moan vibrated under the awful sound as though a million voices were keening in agony.

And chains. Massive chains guiding a mechanism from deep within the cliffs. Chains which were channelled deep below the fortress itself. Hauling the great ribs high above the ancient walls. Between the ribs, a grotesque gelatinous web of greasy-looking shadows and lumps of eldritch red formed a wall. The deathly stench carried into the fortress.  

Nysta spun away, unwilling for a closer look and more concerned with falling debris and slime. Mouth dry with the flavour of fear, she pushed the warlock further inside, away from the gate and into the courtyard.

Everything was veiled in mist and shadows. Shadows which increased as the putrid wall swatted  sunlight away.

But she could make out a few things through the gloom. A huddle of small buildings. A well. A tower reeling in the middle of the courtyard. Black slime stained its peaked roof, giving the impression whatever was enclosing the fortress had done this before.

She hoped it meant the dome forming over the fortress wasn't the kind which crushed everything underneath it.

Risking everything on that hunch, she decided to choose the most  fortified building she could initially see. Snatching the exhausted mage by his robe, she dragged him toward the tower. It was a struggle to stay on their feet as the ground shook in protest and clumps of black sludge landed wetly nearby.

The tower's heavy door opened smoothly and she kicked it shut behind them. Sent the warlock tumbling across the floor as she slammed the heavy iron bolts in place.

Then stood with her back against the shuddering door and allowed the fear to drain slowly from her body as she tried to take comfort in the relative safety of an enclosed space.

There was no sign of life inside the decaying building, and the stone tiles were almost completely covered in thick dust. Only a few tracks dimpled the grey, and these she figured to be rats. Light puffs of dust speckled the air as it was dislodged from the ceiling by the rumbling earth.

She reckoned nothing had lived in the tower for a long time. But it didn't do anything to still her nerves and she half-expected an army of wraiths to emerge from the shadows, shrieking in ghostly hunger.

The grey stone walls were thick. No windows or rooms on the lower level. Just a winding staircase of stone leading upward. It looked defensible. At the very least, it was a place to hide while they figured out what was going on.

Chukshene followed her up the stairs, groaning with each step.

Then, without warning, the ground stopped shaking as the ribs thundered into place with a monstrous crunch. Silence swallowed a few stray echoes.

They froze, ears straining for any sign of what might happen next. Unable to see outside, and with only the merest hint of light creeping down from above, they waited for several heartbeats.

Could hear only liquid dripping from somewhere above.

“What do you think?” the warlock asked, chewing at a fingernail.
 

“Not sure. Could be anything. Figured you were the expert on magic, Chukshene.”