Revenge Of The Elf (Book 1) (17 page)

Mccabe dragged himself closer to the fire despite the suspicious look on his face. “This magefire?” he asked. “It don't look like magefire. You a mage? I don't go for Demonraisers.”

The spellslinger's mouth opened, but it was Nysta who snapped at him. “And what the fuck would you know about magefire, fatman? Or Demonraisers?” Her eyes glinted dangerously. “Whatever fire it is, it'll keep you from freezing your fat ass off. So sit the fuck down. I don't want to hear shit from you except answers to my fucking questions.”

He sat, futility taking over. All the same, he made a barely heard prayer to Grim for protection as the spellslinger shot the elf a glance which showed he couldn't decide if he was puzzled or grateful for her intervention.

“They ain't undead,” the fatman offered dully after a few seconds. He rubbed his knees as he spoke. “Don't know what they are. But they ain't people neither. They're something else. Ah, fuck. What am I doing out here in this cursed place? I should've stayed on Cobtooth's ranch. Those piece of shit cows don't seem so bad right now.”

“Well, they're not demons,” the warlock said.

“Like I said, I don't know what the fuck they are. Just know I won't be going back there. Not on your fucking life,” he hugged himself and shivered. “And I feel bad for them folks left behind. But I can't save them. I ain't a killer like you, Long-ear. Nor a spellslinger like you. I'm just an old cowhand turned honest trader.”

“There such a thing?” she asked with a sardonic twist of her mouth. She found it hard to believe he'd ever worked a hard day in his life. “An
honest
trader?”

The fat man scowled, then slumped again. He was too tired to keep any amount of outrage in his body. The terror which had been consuming him seemed to have gutted him.

The elf had seen it before in soldiers who spent too long behind enemy lines. Chances were if the fat man did survive the night, he'd be a shell of the person he was before. Her threats had worked to get his mind off the creatures in the town, but she doubted they'd hold him together for long.

Unless his mind was stronger than she gave him credit for.

She watched as he worked his jaw before he said slowly; “No more than a wise elf, I'd say.”

“He got you there, Nysta,” chortled the spellslinger.

“I can get him back any time I want,” the elf said, tucking her thumb behind a knife handle.

A ripple of wind cut off any further retort from the shivering fat man. It danced around the small campsite, bringing a hollow moan. She glanced in direction of the town, but figured the noise was further away than it sounded and had little to do with whatever haunted the town.

“They coming?” the fat man swallowed hard, his eyes wide and bright with fear. “They're coming, ain't they?”

“Nope. More things out here than them,” she rubbed at the scar on her cheek. “Sit down, fatman.”

“Told you before. My name's Mccabe,” he said with a sullen scowl. “And if you want anything from me, Long-ear, it'd be good you remember it.”

“Name's Nysta,” she countered. “And you'll talk, fatman. Or you'll bleed and then talk. Your choice. I don't much give a shit either way, but I'm getting sick of making threats. Happy to follow through on one just to break the monotony.”

Whatever roamed far out across the valley gave a last undulating howl as a trickle of snow dusted down from the heavy clouds.

“Ah, shit,” Chukshene spat. “Just what we need. More fucking snow. No shelter out here at all. If we don't insult each other to death, we'll die of cold.”

“Plenty of shelter around,” the elf said grimly.

“Where?”

“Back there.”

“I just knew you were going to say that,” he muttered. Cocked his head and chewed nervously at the corner of his finger.

“Then why'd you ask?”

He spat a splinter of nail. “Habit.”

“You got a few of those,” she observed. “Mostly bad.”

“Fuck you, Long-ear,” he said calmly.

“Careful what you say, Chukshene,” she returned. “I'll take it the wrong way and you'll have your cock in your teeth instead of your fingers, wishing you'd kept your stupid mouth shut.”

“Nysta, please,” he winced. “Don't talk about my dick like that. Gives me the fucking creeps. You any idea what a threat like that does to a man?”

The elf shrugged. “When I find one, I'll ask him.”

“Funny,” he groaned. “Very fucking funny.”

She faced the fat man, whose gaze was still trapped by the town far in the distance.

The speck of buildings on the horizon seemed to be accumulating shadows as the sun set completely behind the brutish shadows. There was hardly anything to suggest the town was there at all. She had the impression the town was being slowly swallowed by a fog of writhing                                                     shadows.

Whatever infested its haunted streets, she thought, clearly loved the dark.

Leaning forward, she rested her head on her fist. Ignored the stiffness of her lower back and legs as they tried to recover from the effort of sprinting after the horses. “Now,” she said. “Figure you've calmed down a little by now. So let's quit the friendly banter. Reckon you feel like telling us what's going on?”

The fat man looked almost ready to shoot to his feet and bolt into the night like a frightened rabbit. But despite the fear, or perhaps because of it, his eyes showed a flicker of cunning. “I tell you what I know, will you give me a horse?”

Chukshene's hissed. “A horse? Are you crazy?”

“After what I seen? Of course I'm fucking crazy! But I ain't crazy enough to hang around. I want out of here, mage. They don't look like they could get me away fast enough. But they'll be faster than me. Look at me. I got more weight than both them nags put together. I can't run. I'll fucking die. Horse might get me far enough out of here.”

“Lostlight?”

“Fuck Lostlight. Rule'll take that pissbowl soon enough. Nope. I'm going past the Wall. Icespring, maybe.”

“And get eaten by a kraken,” the warlock grunted.

“Better than being eaten by
them
,” the fat man's flesh rippled as he shuddered.

“I'll give you the horse,” Nysta said, drawing another hiss from the warlock.

“What? You can't give it to him!”

The elf shrugged. “I don't want it. I can't fucking stand horses.”

“Yeah? Well, neither can I, but you don't see me giving mine away.”

“I ain't giving it,” she spat into the fire, which snapped at the globule with a sizzle. “I'm trading it. Right, fatman?”

“Ain't sure I trust you, Long-ear,” the fat man said slowly. “Know enough about your kind to know you're slipperier than a bucket of greased weasels. How I know you'll give me the horse?”

She allowed the corner of her mouth to curl up into a cruel smile. Slowly, drew
A Flaw in the Glass
. Spun the viciously curved blade in her fingers to send shivers of venomous green light dancing off his eyes. “Can't count on it, for sure,” she said evenly. “But you can count on not leaving this place alive if you don't tell me what I want. See, I'm a lot like that horse over there.”

The fat man paled, his gaze locked on the blade. “How's that?”

The elf's violet eyes were like chips of violet glass as she held his gaze and drawled; “I ain't in a stable condition.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Began almost a week ago,” the fat man said. “This feller, he just appears out of the Deadlands. From the west. And nothing comes from the west, you know?”

“Why's that?” Chukshene asked.

“Nothing out there but mountains. Bigger than the Wyrm's Teeth up north. True that. I've seen both. After that, desert. Beyond that? More desert. Some say it's the path to the Shadowed Halls. Maybe it is. Maybe it ain't. But even the gods didn't want nothing to do with it. Nothing lives out there. But this feller, he came out of the mountains. And there was something wrong with him.”

The spellslinger leaned forward. “What?”

“Well. Dunno, really. Can't put my finger on it. But he didn't walk right. Or maybe he just didn't look proper human. I can't explain it. He just weren't right.”

The elf yawned and slid off the rock. Leaned back on it and held her boots out to the fire to warm her feet. She'd learnt to take rest whenever she could, and though her ears listened intently to Mccabe's every word, outwardly she looked calm and uninterested, causing the fat man to aim his words to the warlock.

“He wasn't a troll?” Chukshene asked. “I've seen some funny looking trolls in my time. One I saw, he looked like a ten foot stick of celery with a head like a freshly shat dog turd and arms straight off a kraken. They can be pretty fucked up sometimes. Some even look pretty much like us. Maybe a nose like a horse's cock, but otherwise just like us.”

“Weren't no troll,” the fat man said. “And we get some strange ones here, too. This feller had pale skin. And his eyes. Couldn't see them at all. It was like the shadows swallowed them up. Just looking at him made me want to throw up. Or shit my pants. Or both.”

The spellslinger tapped his book thoughtfully. “Cave troll? They can be pale.”

“It weren't no fucking troll,” Mccabe insisted more firmly.

“'Lock?” Nysta rolled her head lazily in his direction. “Shut your mouth before I kick it in. What next, fatman?”

Mccabe shot the warlock a dismissive glance. “Well, he walked up to the gate like he owned the fucking thing. Wanted to come inside. Thing is, at night, Captain Galen closes the gates. Never opened them at night. Not since a demon waltzed right in and started killing folks. Three years ago that was. I remember. Never thought anything could be worse than that night. Wrong about that, wasn't I? Should've left back then, but didn't. Figured it was a one time thing, you know? And the Captain said he'd keep the gates shut at night. All kinds of shit roams the plains at night. Trolls. Draug. Fucking frost giant walked right past us, once. Lucky it didn't step on a wall.”

“A frost giant?” Chukshene blinked. “This far south?”

“Seen them a few times,” the fat man shrugged. “Usually just passing. But with them, you never know when they feel like gnawing on your roof, do you?”

“Fuck,” the spellslinger shuddered. “I hate frost giants.”

“You hate everything,” Nysta told him.

“Yeah? So? What's your point?”

The elf held up the knife. “This. Any more stupid questions?”

“That's good enough,” he said tightly.

“Good. Then, shut the fuck up. Again.”

“Yeah, well,” Mccabe licked his lips nervously as the elf nodded for him to continue. “When he got to the gate, the Captain wasn't wanting to open up. Didn't fancy the stranger any more than I did. I was on the wall at the time. Just shootin' the shit with Logjam. He is – was – one of the orks. Was glad the Captain told the feller to move along or wait 'til morning. But the stranger didn't like it. Not at all. Got real mad. Yelled up to the Captain that he'd be sorry if he didn't just open up. That was enough for the Captain. He told the stranger to go fuck himself. Logjam laughed hard at that. But the stranger, he just looked up at us like we were nothing. I tell you, looking down at him there, I never felt colder in all my life. He took a few steps back like he was gonna leave. Then began howling. Like a fucking animal. No words. Just a long howl.”

“Like a wolf?” Chukshene interrupted, ignoring the elf's groan. “I fucking hate wolves almost as much as frost giants.”

“No, not a wolf. It was awful. I can't describe it. But it chilled me to the fucking bone. And it was like the night suddenly got darker. There weren't many clouds that night. You could see the stars, but when he howled, I swear they stopped shining,” he looked down at his hands, which were shaking. “Have you got anything to drink? I could use a drink.”

“You think if we did, I'd still be sober?” Chukshene dropped his pack and rummaged around inside. Pulled out one of the small packets he'd taken from the wagoners and tossed it over. “Here. Food's all I got.”

The trader sighed. “Not food I need,” he said, holding the packet as though unsure what to do with it. He dropped it in his lap and turned his gaze to the fire. “Thanks anyway.”

“Suit yourself. Long-ear?” the warlock held out another. She shook her head and he shrugged stuffing some dried fruit into his mouth. “Fine. I'll eat it all. I don't mind.”

A vision of the pale creatures eating the flesh of their own flickered into her mind and she pushed it away with a grimace. To take her mind off the revolting memory, she began spinning
A Flaw in the Glass
in her hand, enjoying the mechanical motion. Looked at the trader as another thought came to mind. “He say anything?”

“What?”

“Feller at the gate. When he was done howling. He say anything?”

“Yeah,” Mccabe put his hands on his knees and squeezed. “And when he spoke, it got even colder than an icewitch's tit. Said,
the darkness will fight again
.”

Nysta frowned. Something tugged at her memory, but she couldn't put her finger on it. “That it?”

“Then those
things
. They came. They rose outta the ground. Like a herd of dead things rising from their graves. The stranger, he moved to the gate. Put his hand on it. And those gates, they were made of Dwarven steel. Fucking Dwarven steel. Leftovers from the war. Used to be one of Grim's forts, so it was built strong. They don't make gates like that anymore, for sure. Not since the dwarves fucked off. Armies tried getting through that wall, Long-ear. Last year, we had fifteen trolls trying to break through. They couldn't even scratch it. But this thing, he just fucking touched it. That's all. One little push and they buckled and twisted like they was made of paper.”

“Magic?” Chukshene asked.

The fat man shook his head. “Nope. Didn't do shit. Just touched it. Then those creatures, they came into the town. Killed everybody they could find. Galen was first. Worst thing I ever saw. I mean, I seen people die before. Ain't the first bad thing I've seen. This is the Deadlands, right? I've seen draugs. And what they do. But these things, they were cold. No fucking emotion. Just tore him apart. Almost like they wanted to see what he was made of. So cold. Like spiders. It was fucked up,” he shivered violently. “Real fucked up.”