Revenge Of The Elf (Book 1) (22 page)

She snatched at his shirt, trying to drag him off the horse.

Tried to slash him with
A Flaw in the Glass
.

Missed.

He reared high in the saddle with a snarl. His elbow smashed into her cheek and he raised his sword. With no room to swing the blade, he used the pommel and pain exploded across her shoulder.

Suddenly desperate, pounded at her again and again, his free hand shoving her in the face. “Get the fuck off me, you fucking whore!”

Wearing the blows, the elf swung her hips, trying to lift one leg high enough to jam her foot between his ankle and stirrup. What she wanted was enough leverage to make an effective attack.

Her boot scraped against the horse's ribs.

She felt another impact, this time glancing off bone. Wincing, she realised she couldn't hold much longer and made one last attempt to stab him.

The blade lunged at his guts.

Might have cut him open, too.

But from behind, Neckless aimed a kick at her head which connected hard and sent her lunge veering past his belly and striking air. The shock of impact made her arch her back in pain. The fingers holding his shirt slipped.

She tasted blood.

Neckless kicked her again, a giggle rippling over his lips.

Raste's shirt ripped, the sound clear in her ears. In fact, it seemed the only thing she heard. And with it, her heart ripped in her chest.

The elf screamed as she her lost her battle to cling to him. It was a scream torn from the depths of her soul, clawing at the air as desperately as she clawed at Raste.

At his saddle.

The stirrup.

And then the earth.

She tumbled among the mindless Lichspawn. Their bare feet were all around her. Could smell their rancid bodies and felt the thud of a hoof pounding into the earth only millimetres from her head.

Out of breath, her head snapped up. Eyes narrowed to slits. Speckled red spots danced across her vision like falling stars. Wished the surging rage which was eating her like acid could be spat at the fleeing horsemen. She rolled.

Coughed.

Shot to her feet despite knowing they were out of reach for now. Knife clenched in her fist so hard she could feel the war between her knuckles and the handle to see which would crack first.

“I'll find you!” she spat, her voice rising to a shriek. “Raste! You hear me? I swear to you. If I have to chase you to the gates of the Shadowed Halls, I'll have your head! Your fucking head!”

“Then I'll see you at the Halls, you stubborn bitch,” Raste called back over his shoulder as the Nine swept through the line of Lichspawn and headed toward the gate. “But I reckon you'll get there first, so enjoy the long fucking wait!”

Blood ran thick down the back of her neck and she wobbled drunkenly before steadying her gait. As their mounts carried the Bloody Nine beyond the gates, she headed after them with a determined set of her jaw.

An echo of their shared laughter remained as they left her to her grim fate.

The Lichspawn stopped at the gate and watched the fleeing horsemen for a few heartbeats. There was a tiredness about the way they moved, as though exhaustion crept through their corrupted bodies.

If they cared that the Bloody Nine had escaped them, it didn't show.

Slowly, an ocean of black eyes toward her.

Feeling the sickening taste of defeat freeze the boiling rage in her belly into a sharp ball of ice, she faced the impassive gaze of the assembled Lichspawn blocking the gate.

“Reckon you should know I ain't on the menu,” she hissed. The emotions blitzing through her body were unable to split the fine line where rage and fear were separated. Her voice emerged through dry mouth like chips of a shattered blade. “So get the fuck out of my way.”

“The men you sought have escaped you,” the dark figure said softly. “Forget them, Child of Veil. They are nothing to you now.”

A Flaw in the Glass
flashed. The closest creature dropped, a hole in its ribs spurting black blood. The others watched silently as another shuffled in to fill the breach.
 

It'd been a futile gesture on her part and she knew it. But frustration crackled across her shoulders like electricity. “Out of my fucking way, I said!”

The Lichspawn didn't move.

The hooded figure glided up behind her. A cold wind coiled around her heart like a frozen wyrm.

Then her nose wrinkled as an awful stench quickly filled the air. Thick and acidic, it burned her nostrils. The elf's eyes flared brightly as the Lichspawn lifted their heads to the air and sniffed as one.

She cocked her head and spoke to the hooded figure without turning. “You know what they say? You can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. Seems the Bloody Nine thought it was too hot in here. Maybe they figure they've escaped my blades. But they won't get far. Reckon it's too late for you fellers, though,” she threw herself to the ground as a thick wall of purple flame blasted through the gates, consuming all Lichspawn in its path.

Looked up, her eyes reflecting the dancing flame. Spitting dirt, she felt the roar of magefire as it rolled like a wave to crash against a nearby home. Her lips formed a cruel smile. “'Cause now we're cookin'.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Chukshene emerged from the thick smoke, clearly exhausted. His limp hair plastered to his face, he stared in wide-eyed triumph at the devastation.

“Well?” he called, choking on smoke. “Are you gonna lay about all fucking day, or you gonna get your skinny ass out of here?”

“What fucking kept you?” she hissed.

“I told you it takes time!” He covered his mouth and coughed. “Now. Move it, Long-ear!”

She didn't dare look behind to see if the hooded figure was there. The crawling feeling that he was standing right behind her made her want to turn around, but didn't. Instead, sprinted toward the gates, her breath loud in her ears. “Which way'd they go?”

“Huh?”

“The Bloody fucking Nine! Which way?”

“Oh,” he waved an arm southward. “They went that way somewhere. I didn't see. I was too busy trying to save your ass. You won't catch them now. I don't give a fuck how fast you can run, their horses are running faster. But come on. We've got to get out of here. There's more coming.”

The elf snarled, but accepted the truth of his words.

She would follow them, of course, but now they knew she would be on her trail they would ride as fast and far as they could.

Nysta bared her teeth and her eyes glittered. It would just take more time, is all.

Why they were heading south was a mystery to her. They'd have to know she'd follow them to Grimwood Creek. And beyond that, they couldn't go too far south before reaching the border. And only the Jukkala were skilled enough to journey deep into the southern kingdoms. It was too hard to hide the ears of an elf and the Caspiellans would kill them on sight.

There had to be something else, then. They'd have to have a good reason for going to Grimwood Creek.

Maybe they were meeting someone?

But that puzzle could wait.

She skipped over several smoking corpses and made to follow the spellslinger out the gate. Nearly lost her footing as the ground gave a sudden violent lurch. “What the fuck?”

Weak from casting, Chukshene couldn't keep his balance through the trembling of the earth, and fell back on his ass. He squeaked an outraged curse and rolled quickly onto his side in an effort to snatch the grimoire from where it had fallen. This was more difficult than it should have been thanks to the pale-skinned arms erupting up from the ground to snatch at his robe. They dragged him down easily.

“Nysta!” he shrieked, still trying to grab his spellbook. “Help me!”

The elf grunted as several arms drove up between her feet and wrapped cold hands around her ankles. Fear burst in her veins. “Sorry, 'lock,” she called as she used
A Flaw in the Glass
to saw through flesh and bone. Black blood spurted over the already stained ground. She stabbed rapidly at the sodden earth, sickened as chunks of meat and bone were savagely torn free. “Reckon they all want to lend a hand.”

“Why do you fight us, Child of Veil?” The hooded figure's voice curled around her ears. With a shiver, the mutilated arms she'd been fighting sank into the earth like wilting flowers.

“Nysta?” the spellslinger gasped. “This doesn't look so great.”

She glanced at him. He'd given up struggling and was staring aghast at the figure looming over her.

“Reckon you're right, Chukshene,” she allowed with a calm she didn't feel.

Turning slowly on her heels, she stood before the hooded figure.

He lowered the hood to expose features long withered with time. Deep cracks travelled down his cheeks like ancient scars and his eyes were deep pits of black like the Lichspawn. But he was clearly something different.

Long dark hair hung in ribbons from his dry scalp and a strip of flesh down the side of his jaw had torn away, exposing clean white bone.

She'd seen Deathpriests up close before. Seen the effects immortality had on their flesh, but this went beyond even that. She had the feeling his body could wither away to dust and still he would live.

Shuddering, she studied the expression on his face. Achingly sad. It was as if the dry parchment skin had been weathered more by sorrow than time and once more she felt a pang of pity, though she couldn't say why.

“Asked you once,” she breathed, struggling to push the slow trickle of compassion for the tormented creature from her heart. “You didn't give me a decent answer. Ask you again. What do you want?”

The Lichspawn gathering slowly behind him, lifted their heads as one and their eyes drilled into her as their mingled voices crawled across the street. “
The Darkness
,” they intoned. “
Will fight again
.”

“My friends speak true,” he said. “The Darkness will fight again.”

“That's not an answer! What is it you want?”

He cocked his head, considering her words. When he replied, his brow creased with a crackling of dry skin. “We fought many wars. Slew many heroes. The blood of kings has passed our lips and tainted this blade,” he held the sword as though only just remembering it. “But our Lady is gone. Fallen. No more.”

“
No more
,” the Lichspawn intoned. The elf took a hesitant step backward at the sudden emotion in their voice. An emotion she was still freshly acquainted with.

Loss.

The figure nodded. “The Darkness will fight again.”

“Yeah,” she said carefully, edging slowly to her left. He didn't seem to mind her movement, or notice her hand grip the blade in her fist harder. “You said that. Reckon I've heard of you. You're Gaket. That right?”

For what seemed an eternity, he didn't move. Didn't even breathe. She wondered if he even needed to, and instantly doubted it. “Gaket,” he said, as though tasting the word for the first time. “That is . . . an old name.”

“Well, you ain't exactly looking too fresh.”

Gaket looked down at his undead body as though seeing it for the first time. The rip of bone sticking up through his thigh to show where his leg had been broken and would never heal. The rough, nearly skeletal hands. Desiccated flesh.

He nodded slowly. “That name was lost on the day I accepted her blessing.”

“What do I call you, then?”

“We have no names. None are needed, Child of Veil.”

“You keep calling me that,” she said, twisting her lip. “But Veil's dead. You said it yourself. Fallen to Rule. She was dead before I was even born. I'm no child of hers.”

“You are Elfblood. You are hers. Even in death, she owns you.” His lips cracked as they parted to reveal splintered teeth. Thick black ooze glistened between the cracks and the stench of the grave was overpowering. “You fight well. You are a gift to us. She said you would be.”

Fighting the impulse to gag, her blood froze at his words and she shuddered. “Don't reckon I like the sound of that,” she said.
A Flaw in the Glass
flickered nervously in her fist. “You want to fight me? Is that it? I'll tell you something. I won't die easy.”

“All things die easy in the end,” he said. “But we are not here to fight you, Child of Veil.”

“Then what is it? Why haven't you killed me, Gaket? You've slaughtered a whole town here. Yet, you let me live. What do you want? Reckon it's not because of this Elfblood shit. Or the Child of Veil crap. You want something. And I'm not gonna like it, am I?”

“We need you,” he took a step closer, his boot nudging the burnt skull of one of the Lichspawn. He didn't notice. “You will save us.”

“Save you?” she shot him an incredulous look. “You're immortal. You chew through armies. You've killed kings under Rule's very fucking nose. It's been said you could kill Rule himself if you wanted to. And you need me to save you? What could I do that you can't?”

“The Darkness will fight again.”

The elf made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “But what the fuck does that mean?”

“The Darkness will fight again,” he repeated, injecting some urgency into his voice. It was this urgency which scared her more than the Lichspawn shuffling closer behind him.

“You keep saying that,” she scowled. “Over and over, like it might make sense. But it doesn't. So you want to fight again. But you don't want to fight me? And you won't let me leave. It's not making any fucking sense, Gaket. What are we doing here? Are we gonna kick each other's ass or what? I'm losing my patience for this. Every second I spend standing here in this fuckhole town is another second Raste and his assholes are breathing air I don't want them to breathe. So make sense, you undead piece of shit. Fight like the soldier you were, or get the fuck out of my way.”

“Gaket! Listen to me!” Chukshene choked as he struggled in the pale arms pinning him to the dirt. His heels kicked, but he was held too tight to wriggle free. “Gaket! I got a fight for you. You can fight Rule. Fight the one who murdered your goddess! And who killed the Dark Lord himself! Fight him, Gaket! For vengeance. For honour, if you believe in it still. Grim's scrotum, fight him for the fuck of it. That's reason enough, isn't it?”