Revenge Of The Elf (Book 1) (3 page)

The hook knife thudded into his chest.

Talek grinned in triumph as blood flowered outward over Fenis's hand. Saw the horrified expression grow in the other elf's eyes.

Raste powered up the stairs. “Fenis! What the fuck! What the fuck did you do?”

“Oh shit,” Fenis croaked. “I didn't mean it, Raste. I didn't! I couldn't help it. He just said-”

“Fuck! I expect it from Doket! But, Fenis! I thought you had some fucking control. What the fuck've you done?” He pushed Fenis aside and grabbed hold of Talek's drooping head. Pulled him close. Pressed at the wound as though trying to push the blood back inside the dying elf. “Talek! Fucking tell me where it is. Where's the box, Talek? Where is it?”

Feeling his life moving slowly out of his body, he was grateful for the knife still jammed into his chest. A sea of numbness spread outward from the wound. All the pain he'd felt this past year was drifting away like melting snow. It seeped outward on thick rivers down his legs and pooled at his feet.

All that pain, he thought.

Going away.

His smile was soft as he thought of Nysta.

At least she'd be free to move on. She could start again.

Tears built in the corner of his eyes as his mind filled with an image of her. She'd never been very pretty, he allowed, but right then she was the most beautiful thing in the world.

He saw her in his mind as he'd seen her the first time.

Holding some shiv she'd made for herself out of some old spoon. Sharpened on the cobblestones for days on end.

She'd never lost that relentless streak of ruthlessness. Blood on her hands and a look of such intense sorrow that everything inside him had thawed and never froze again.

Her eyes. Yes, his fragmenting mind thought. Her eyes were glorious.

And the way she moved.

Like a river.

A mountain stream.

Beautiful.

His head rolled. Blood speckled his lips.

He wished the arms around him were hers and not this red-haired bastard's.

“Called him a faggot,” he breathed wetly. “Hardly an insult these days, is it, Raste? Kids, huh? No fucking discipline. I remember when the Musa were tough. Not so easy to rile. Not with words, anyway. Grim's eyes, Raste. It was hardly a fucking challenge. Gone soft since the Jukkala turned their back on you, eh?”

“Where's the box, Talek? The box. Where is it?” Raste pleaded frantically. “Come on, Talek. Don't you die. Not yet. You hear me? Not until I fucking say. Tell me, please. Tell me where it is! Tell me where it is and I'll make sure she won't get hurt! I promise, Talek. I'll do anything. Just tell me!”

“Gonna need help,” he murmured, feeling lighter every second. Feeling as though he was being pulled out of his body on a slick blanket. As the pain pulled away, he felt his mind clear. Memories trickled in like the last drops of water from a canteen. “Gonna need them cold. And hard. Better than this lot. More of them, too. If you want to survive.”

“Survive what?”

“Reckon I know you now, Raste. She won't spare you. Never talked about you, but she hates you. And there ain't no room in her heart for forgiveness.”

“Nysta?” The red-haired elf set his jaw. “She'd be stupid to come after the Bloody Nine. And if she does, I'll kill her,” he snapped his fingers under Talek's nose. “Easy as that.”

“You seen her lately?”

“We met. Long time ago.”

“Reckon that's a maybe. Know what she is?”

“A fucking cock-gobbling whore is all she is.”

Talek let out a small whine as a thin needle of pain slid into his spine. It would be the last pain he'd ever feel. “Then you don't know anything,” he whispered. “Almost pity you. Almost.”

“What is she?” Fenis asked, taking a step back as Raste shot him a venomous look.

Talek's lips cracked into a bloodstained grin. He wished he had time to tell them how proud he was of her. “You'll find out.”

And he died.

It was a quiet thing.

His body gave a small shudder and he slumped in Raste's grip.

The shadows which seemed to swirl along the wall froze in place for a moment. But they quickly began to dance again as the creeping clouds splintered beneath the sun. But try as the rays might, they couldn't do much to ease the cold.

The red-haired elf spat a curse and allowed the corpse to slide off the bench and onto the porch. “Well, Fenis. That's really fucking pissed me off.”

“I'm sorry, Raste. I didn't-”

“Get the fuck out of my sight. Now! Before I fucking kill you. Go get the horses. Try not to kill any on the way.”

“But they're miles back!”

“Go fucking get them!” Raste roared as the others slowly drifted back. He didn't have to look at their faces to know he'd failed. The box wouldn't be found today. He wanted to kick the dead body. Kick it until it fell apart. Instead, he stood as still as stone.

“I'll come with you,” Doket offered, scuttling after Fenis.

Tubal leaned against the rail further up the porch, picking at his teeth with a stick of straw. “Told you this was a waste of time. Even if there was anything to that old story, Raste, it was a fucking waste of time.”

“It's not a story,” Raste insisted. “My father knew Talek's old man. In the old days. They were close. He saw the box with his own eyes. Shit! I was so fucking close I can smell it.”

“All I can smell is goatshit,” one of the others muttered. A savage scar ripped across his throat, which explained why they called him Neckless.

“Sure, Raste,” Tubal yawned. “What I know is anyone who knew Talek could've told you he wouldn't say shit no matter what you did, yeah? Bastard was tougher than a wyrm. Look at him. Got hit by a fucking fireball. And lived. I don't reckon getting fucked up like that changed him much. If anything, it made him tougher.”

“It has to be here,” Raste spat. “Maybe in the cabin. Doket couldn't find shit if it was coming out his asshole. Maybe I should look around.”

“Maybe. Won't argue he's next to fucking useless. And you're welcome to stick around and keep looking,” the big elf's eyes were colder than the snow. “But I won't stick around with you. We've been waiting for this moment, Raste. Waiting years. We've trained for it. Bled for it. All that shit we took from the Musa, and the Jukkala. It's time for us to go south. Then pay them out. So, you can stay here and hunt myths. Me, I'm heading out.”

“Tubal's right,” two of the soldiers said in one voice. It was an eerie sound, but one which Raste was long used to. Their dark eyes eyed him with an impassiveness that bordered on reptilian. He was used to that, too. “We need to leave.”

“Even the Twins are with me,” Tubal said. “Your trinket, Raste. It'd make a nice fucking heirloom, but Acceptance is worth a shitload more. Don't reckon I want to fuck around looking for a needle in a haystack right now. Not now.”

“Fuck, Tubal,” Raste cast a bitter gaze around the yard with a bitter scowl. “What we could've done with that box! You've no idea what it is. What it could have made us.”

“Yeah, well. That's life, I say. Move on,” he pushed from the rail and looked out across the valley. “Nice place, this. Wouldn't mind something like it myself. You said you knew his wife?”

Raste dropped his hand over the hilt of his knife. “Long time ago.”

“She anything he made her out to be?”

“What?”

“Seemed to think she'd come after us. Talek, he was the King's personal bodyguard. Was Kulsa'Jadean. They ain't soft. And if she's anything like him...”

“He was just fucking with your head,” Raste scoffed. “She's nothing. A fucking whore. Grew up in the taverns down by the docks. Rest of the time she was in an alley sleeping it off, or selling her ass. No wonder she stuck to Talek like glue. He was her ticket off the streets. If she was gonna follow us, it'd be to beg for fucking change. And I ain't giving her shit.”

“You sure about that? Doesn't sound like the same bitch he was talking about.”

“Trust me. She's nothing.”

“Hope she does follow, then,” the broad-shouldered elf drawled. Gave a final suck on the straw before flicking to toward the small pen of goats. “Be the first time I'd be happy to come all this way for fucking nothing.”

CHAPTER THREE

The elf called Nysta staggered unsteadily down the narrow rocky path leading into the valley. Clumps of snow littered the ground and she spat at a few of them as she passed. “Fucking cold,” she muttered darkly, shoving her hands deeper into her jacket pockets.

She was small for her kind, but held herself rigid which made her seem taller than she was. Her face was half-hidden under black hair twisted into thick knotted locks once neatly plaited in a traditional manner but were now suffering from neglect. Woven into the frayed locks were small strips of cloth from many different sources, giving her a ragged look.

When she reluctantly pulled her hand from the warmth of her pocket to push hair from her face, she revealed features not quite ugly, but certainly not pretty. Mostly due to the angry red scar cutting into the coffee coloured skin of her cheek. The harsh scar began at the corner of her mouth and ripped upward before jagging out from a point just under her eye toward her ear. It was this scar which squeezed an element of latent cruelty into her smile.

Her clothing belonged to a dark alley more than the sweeping ruined landscape of the Deadlands. Black wyrmskin pants and matching jacket in a style that might've been a kind of uniform.

Like her hair, it suffered from neglect and was heavily patched with varying shades of wyrmskin crudely sewn over many rips and holes. Her dark undershirt was dishevelled and stained with rum, spots of vomit and what could've been some kind of gravy.

Or blood.

She couldn't remember.

Her head beat to a painful rhythm dictated by the headache which had trailed her from Highwall. Sometimes she thought about pulling a knife and shoving it deep into her forehead in an attempt to dig the offending ache out of her head like a tumor.

The only problem she had with this idea was she couldn't choose which knife to use.

Sheaths and pockets covered her battered uniform with surprising excess. Even her boots had their own sheaths. And slid into most of the sheaths were an impressive selection of blades. And though they may have appeared decorative, they were all chosen with function rather than fashion in mind.

Each blade was known to her by the feel of its handle. Each had a name of its own because she believed names gave them purpose.

Names gave them life.

Life they often stole.

The elf grimaced into the fading light. Heavy clouds crumpled the sunlight into dull fists but enough punched through to irritate her hungover mind. She knew far across the valley, Talek would no doubt be waiting on the porch.

Probably asleep again.

When she arrived, she'd find him half-frozen and despite saving him from a freezing death he'd figure he was the one saving her. And he'd give her another talk about her drinking. About spending day after day pressed against the bar of the Trollspit Tavern, feeding on  guilt as much as rum.

She knew he figured she was repulsed by his scars. That she was unable to love him now the burns had eaten half his body.

But that wasn't even close to the truth.

Truth was she loved him so much the pain she felt in her chest with each step closer to him burned almost as hot as the magefire which had melted his flesh. And it was this love which filled her with guilt.

Because every agony he felt was her fault.

She jerked a hand from her jacket and rubbed at the puckered scar on her cheek.

Grunted heavily. It was a useless train of thought, and she knew it. But it was one which ran in circles around her head like a dog hungry for its tail.

Maybe today, she thought, it would stop.

Maybe he'd say something.

Do something which would melt the ice surrounding her heart. Ice which grew to stop her heart from breaking.

The valley stretched out like a sleeping wyrm. Clumps of mummified trees gathered in secretive groups and the trail wound through them with a tentativeness that always affected her. Made her think they were watching her. Talking about her in savage whispers.

A year ago she would have spat at them, driving the ghost of her fear away. But today she endured the creeping sensation rolling down her spine as price of her wandering.

She paused at the edge of a small stream which cut through the valley to splash her face with the sluggish moving icy water. It chilled her skin and made her violet eyes glitter brightly. Wiped her mouth as she turned toward the house which was less than a dot on the horizon.

Something about it was wrong, but she couldn't quite place it.

Her brain was still too fuzzy.

Whatever it was, she figured the last few shards of light dazzling her sight would soon fade and she'd be able to make out whatever it was that was nudging her mind.

Rubbing again at the scar, the elf continued down the path, mind flushed with the remnants of drink.

She'd left home before dark the day before, crawling out of their shared bed.

Looking back at his shape and listening to him moan softly in his sleep as the pain followed him even into his dreams. He slept like a wounded animal. Unable to take the sound any longer, she stumbled out the door and into the freezing morning.

Tears clawing out through her eyes and scratching down her cheeks like acid.

During the night, snow had fallen like a glittering white rash over the valley and, for some reason, that had been the trigger which sent her to Trollspit.

Lifting her head, she could smell more snow on its way. There was a heaviness to the air that spoke of a big fall.

The goats would need seeing to.

She'd have to put them in the barn. No way Talek would've been able to do that.

He'd been so strong when they'd met. A soldier, rising swiftly through the ranks of the Kulsa'Jadean.

He was the young man kneeling beside her and looking at her over a dead body. How soft his eyes had been and in that crazed moment he seemed to understand everything she'd gone through to arrive at that moment when she slipped the blade so easily into the man who wanted something she no longer had the will to give.