Revenge Of The Elf (Book 1) (7 page)

“Nysta.”

“Nysta?”

“I'm not about to repeat it.”

“That means
edge
in elfish, isn't it?”

“Yeah,” she scrubbed at the scar on her cheek. “You got me on that.”

“How far is it to town?”

“Day and a half, maybe.”

“Day and a half,” he swirled the idea around thoughtfully. “What did you call this town again?”

“Spikewrist.”

“Spikewrist?”

“You gonna repeat everything I say, Chukshene?”

“Maybe,” he said airily. “I'm a complicated man.”

Nysta dug her hands as far as she could into her pockets. One hand found Talek's box hidden inside and her fingers explored the texture of the wood. It felt cold to touch. Too cold. Like she was holding a solid block of ice. A part of her wanted to pull it out and have a look, but another part wanted to keep it hidden from the spellslinger.

Another part wanted to try opening it.

See what was inside.

She licked her lips.

But the part that won was that which mourned him and refused to do more than carry it for him.

“What'd they do?”

His question ran around inside her head like a goblin in a beer barrel. She blinked, clearing the fog. “What?”

“These guys you're hunting. What'd they do? Steal something? Call you names? Rape your dog?”

“They killed someone.”

“Who?”

The elf looked away, shivering as a ribbon of cold air pushed through her cloak and whispered through her jacket. “My husband.”

“Really?” he paused. Frowned. “I mean, you're married? No offence, but you don't look the type.”

“Figured you out, Chukshene.”

“Huh?”

“You're an asshole,” she growled, picking up her pace.

He skipped to catch up. “Might be right,” he shrugged. “But to be fair to me, you don't exactly come off as one of the world's most loving types. I mean, look at you. Ugly as a chicken's ass. Smelly black fucking leather and more knives than the Royal Kitchen. What do you need that many for? Or you just lose all your spoons and forks? You know, I have a knife, too. I use it to cut cheese.”

“Thought you smelled funny,” she muttered, scratching at the palm of her hand.

“Huh? Smelled funny?” he sniffed at his armpit. Winced. “So I haven't washed lately. So what? It's too fucking cold. Last creek I found was half frozen. Really. Had to chip out a chunk of ice just to wet my mouth. Couldn't drink more than a sip because it nearly froze my tongue off! You think I'm going to bathe in water that fucking cold? Anyway. That's my excuse for smelling like a troll's nutsack. What's yours?”

The elf ignored him as she noticed a flicker of movement through the trees. Draped her hand lightly over the jutting hilt of
Entrance Exam
.

“What is it?” he asked softly.

“Not sure, yet.”

Chukshene patted his gut and peered hopefully through the trees. “Hope it's edible. I haven't eaten in days. Hey, you don't have any food in those pouches of yours, do you?”

Her own stomach growled. She fingered the knife's slim hilt. Ready to jerk it free and send it spinning end over end into flesh. His, she thought, if he didn't shut the fuck up. “Be quiet, spellslinger.”

“I'm being quiet,” he hugged his book closer and shifted his pack. He shivered nervously as she led the way through the tangled path. Stopped sharply as she crouched, head cocked. Watched her intently as she listened to sounds he couldn't hear. Wet his chapped lips with his tongue. “But I should let you know, if I don't talk I think I'll piss my pants.”

The elf held up a hand for silence, but not before glancing at him. Her violet eyes glittered in the fading light. “Zip it, Chukshene. This ain't the time for your wee problems.”

CHAPTER SIX

The flickering turned out to be a camp fire sending shadows dancing through the trees.

The smell of the fire was an open promise of warmth and she silently berated herself for having travelled so close to the impending darkness. She stepped lightly into the sullen ring of light, deciding to take advantage of the already prepared camp.

It looked like a good place to spend the night. The looming trees easily sheltered the small clearing from the wind and she could hear a bubbling stream in the distance.

Only one thing was missing, really.

The men who'd set the camp.

A dusty old wagon sat at the back of the narrow clearing, the fire's light dragging over the canvas sheets drawn over the top for shelter. Its back wheel jutted out at a sharp angle that spoke of damage.

How the wagoners had managed to manoeuvre it through the narrow paths surprised the elf, but she thought no more on the skills of the wagoners as the canvas flap moved sharply.

“That's far enough!” a brittle voice called from within, and the elf noticed a small hole in the side. The glint of steel suggested an arrow tip.

“No, it ain't,” she called back. “Fire's all the way over there.”

“Make your own. You're in a forest. Plenty of fucking dead wood in this shithole.”

The spellslinger hovered behind her. “Nysta? How about we just go around? There's still a little light left.”

“Ain't looking for trouble,” the elf called, ignoring the nervous mage. “Just a bit of warmth. And like to know if you've seen a bunch of fellers on horseback riding this track?”

“What you want with them?”

“It matter?”

“Not really. But we ain't in the habit of getting involved in shit. It's a good way to get dead. Know what I mean?”

“Nysta?” Chukshene tugged at her sleeve. “I really don't think-”

“Just want to use the fire,” the elf insisted. “I'll pay.”

A pause. “Pay? With what? You're too scrawny for much and the spellslinger ain't our type.”

Someone else in the wagon tittered.

“What did he just say?” the mage looked outraged. “Did he just say what I think he sai-”

“Pay with coin,” she dug into one of her many pouches and pulled out a small handful of silver.

“That real silver?”

The elf tossed one toward the wagon, letting it fall short. “Check for yourself.”

She waited, listening to the voices mutter to themselves before a second called; “You got a lot of blades on you for an honest traveller, Long-ear. How about you leave them right there?”

“You got a bow. Let's both keep our weapons. And our fucking distance.”

The discussion within the wagon grew more intense, but the elf could hear the word
silver
repeated and she moved resolutely toward the camp fire, reasonably certain the two men inside would accept the deal.

“Hey!” the second voice cried. “What the fuck you doing?”

“Sitting by the fire while you fellers argue,” she growled. “Let me know when you're ready to earn your pay.”

Chukshene followed carefully, his eyes wide as he stared hard at the hole in the canvas.

“Keep back! I'm warning you!” An arrowhead poked further out through the hole and the mage gave a yelp, skidding backward. “I'll put one through your fucking eye!”

“What the fuck, Oliver?” the first voice sounded disgusted. “Put it away. She ain't impressed and you can't hit a barn door with that thing. Long-ear? We're gonna come out now. Reckon we can take it easy from here in?”

The elf shrugged, slumping down on a log which had been dragged into position beside the fire. Rubbed her hands together and held them out, feeling the warmth breathe through her fingers.

Chukshene crouched beside her, still hugging his book like a child's toy.

The first man to emerge had a long hawkish nose and piercing blue eyes. His ragged rust-coloured hair was wild and a little too long. He had a short hatchet slung awkwardly at his hip. “Name's Carter,” he said. “Carter Holl. This is my driver, Oliver Kween. Call him Ollie if you like. I do. Coming up from Firelash. We're traders, Ollie and I. Part of a merchant group. Got left behind when we busted a wheel. Soon have it fixed, though.”

“Don't have to tell them our life story,” Ollie grunted, leaping down behind the shorter man. His face was sharper. Eyes a little too narrow. Fnordic like his companion, his wide cropped beard wiped drily over his chin and cheeks. Heavier in build, he may have been good looking, she thought. If it weren't for the veiled look of disgust he directed at her. A look she'd seen a few times before in men who figured they had reason to hate elfs. His gaze flashed with malice before sliding sourly away. “You said you had silver.”

“Never mind him,” Carter sighed. “he's just pissed we're falling behind the others. And this is the Deadlands. So, he's seeing draugs in every shadow.”

“It's kept us alive so far!”

“Certainly keeps my bladder full,” countered the smaller man. Let an apologetic smile twitch across his face. “You're both welcome to spend the night. Share the fire. Pay what you think is fair. At this stage, it's a bonus, I reckon.”

“Carte-”

“Enough, Ollie! I've decided.”

Oliver looked ready to argue. He held the other man's eyes for a moment before letting his breath whoosh out of his lungs. “Fuck, Carter,” he growled. “We're never gonna make up for lost days if you keep giving shit away.”

“I prefer to do business my way, Ollie. You know that.”

The elf kept her gaze on the fire, apparently disinterested. After glancing at her, Chukshene chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully before speaking. “Hey,” he called amiably to the wagoner. “Don't suppose you have any food you can spare, do you? Doesn't have to be cooked. I'd eat it still kicking if I had to.”

“It'll cost you,” Oliver snapped. “I'll bend the rules, Carter, on the fire. Maybe on letting them sleep close to the wagon. But not on the food. Anything happens out here and we get stranded longer than we think, there's fuck all to eat but dirt and old bones out here. You know that.”

Carter nodded reluctantly. “We can spare a little,” he told the mage. “But Ollie's right. We've wasted a day trying to fix the wheel. The silver will ease his mind, I think.”

“Sure,” Chukshene grinned as Oliver shouldered his bow. Rubbing his hands together happily, he cast a hopeful glance at the elf. “We'll pay. Well. Nysta will. Lend me a few coins, Long-ear? I'm fucking starved.”

Ignoring the mage, the elf leaned toward the wagoner. “You've seen the fellers I was asking about?”

The two Fnords looked at each other and something passed unspoken between them before Carter nodded. The elf felt a grin tug at the corner of her mouth as she guessed their decision right enough.

Oliver threw up his hands in resignation. “Yeah, just give everything away for free. Let's become monks while we're fucking at it. And why bother trading in Lostlight? Let's just give it all away to beggars along the way. Ah, fuck this. I'll see to the horses. Do what you like.”

Grumbling darkly to himself, Oliver stomped off behind the wagon and could be heard muttering to the horses as he led them further from the camp. Carter spread his hands apologetically and sat on the second log to the elf's right.

She thought he looked birdlike in the flickering light as he lifted a small pack from where it had been resting beside the fire. Dug around inside before tossing a small package to the spellslinger. “Here,” he said. “It ain't much, but we don't have a lot left. Hoping to make Highwall in a few days, though. Resupply there.”

Chukshene tore at the wrapping and gave a small satisfied gasp as he pulled out a chunk of cheese and dried strips of meat. Offered some to the elf who gave a quick shake of her head and kept her violet eyes firmly on the hawk-nosed man. “When did you see them?” she asked.

“Yesterday. Late evening. Were nine of them.”

“Nine?” she had expected around that number, but hearing it made her feel slightly overwhelmed. Though she wouldn't stop chasing them until they were all dead, the thought of going against nine possibly well-trained soldiers was a daunting one. She felt a thin trickle of doubt slide down the back of her neck and wondered if she was doing the right thing.

Talek always said she was stubborn.

Told her it would kill her, too. One day.

“Yeah. They rode by easy enough, though. Ollie kept an arrow on them all the way and to tell the truth, Long-ear, I wouldn't have stopped him shooting them. They looked mean. Meaner than you.”

“You don't know me all that well,” the elf said, her lip twisting crookedly up toward the scar.

“Still,” the wagoner shrugged. “I'd leave them be if I were you. Don't poke a snake's nest. You'll only get bit.”

“Good advice,” Chukshene allowed.

“If you're set on it, then maybe you should know they didn't give a shit about Ollie's bow,” Carter said. “In fact, the biggest one kind of smiled at him as though he was a kid with a toy. Big bastard with an axe. Looked like he wanted to kill us both just for the fuck of it. I think that's why Ollie was so sore when you came along. He's still feeling rubbed up the wrong way. He wanted to be a soldier, you know. Long time ago. His old dad was one. When he sees men like that, he gets pissed off he didn't get what they got. Still. They moved on. Maybe figured he wasn't so green they could take a chance on losing a few of their number.”

“Maybe figured his arrows were green, too,” the elf drawled. “Which way they head?”

“South. Heard one say something about Grimwood Creek. They looked like they were in a hurry. And you really shouldn't joke about Ollie like that. He's not as green as you think. He's worked this trail with me for five years. The Deadlands isn't a place for those who can't defend themselves. We've been through a lot together.”

“Grimwood Creek?” Chukshene frowned. “That's right on the border. So they're Caspiellans? You didn't tell me you were hunting Caspiellans.”

Carter barked a laugh. “Caspiellans? I doubt it. Not unless she's one. Or Rule's decided that elf blood isn't Tainted anymore,” he grinned at the mage's confused expression. “And there's fat chance of that, right? No, mage. They were Long-ears. Like her. You ain't together I take it?”

“No. Just headed in the same direction.”

“Wanna be careful, then,” Carter said ominously. “Ought to know who you're travelling with. Know what kinds of trouble you might find, if you get me?”