Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2) (21 page)

The elf followed at a slower pace, aware he'd soon run out of energy and be reduced to stumbling along in a daze. When she did catch up to him, he was holding his side and looking mournfully through the depressing line of twisted trees fossilised by magefire. “More of these stupid trees,” he murmured. He kicked at the ground. “I fucking hate this place. How much further?”

“Ain't far.”
 

He dragged his feet, stumbling regularly, looking to be drunk on exhaustion. “Why'd you marry him?” he asked suddenly.

“Huh?”
 

“Your husband. What's his name? Tarek?”
 

“Talek.”
 

“Yeah, him. Why'd you marry Talek? No offence, Nysta. Really. But you don't seem the type to feel anything except hate.”
 

“I feel a lot of things, 'lock.” She felt her throat tighten as she spoke. Her jaw ached. “But there's a time for them. And a place. And those times and places are gone.”
 

“You think you'll marry again?”
 

She shook her head. “Talek was special, Chukshene. He found me at a time when I needed him. But that little girl ain't around no more.” She tightened her fist around
Kindness
. “I won't let anyone guide my life again. No one uses me from now on. No one.”
 

He looked at her strangely. “But, you're a weapon, Nysta.”

“A what?”
 

“A weapon. Don't be so mad. So am I,” he said, holding out his grimoire. “With this, I can do things some men only dream of. Even some other mages. While you weren't much impressed, you've got to remember we're in the Deadlands. This thing wasn't made to deal with the undead, or with creatures given power direct from the gods. But what it can do to men is unimaginable. I'm all kinds of dangerous, Long-ear. But I'll tell you what I'm not.”
 

“What's that?”
 

“A thinker. I don't know where to go to do the most damage. And most of the time, while you were stabbing shit and actually doing something, I was sitting there trying to figure out what to do. See, I'm a blunt weapon. I do what I'm told. I get used. By the Mage Council. By the emperor himself. Fuck. By anyone who pays me. Should I be ashamed of that? Of doing my job? Doing my best? Some of us, Nysta, were made to be used.”
 

“Not me,” she growled. But she thought of how Talek had guided her to her Jadean. How he'd let them mould her. Fashion her into the kind of soldier who only felt alive when they were killing.
 

“You think it's not honourable? To be a weapon? If that's true, then why do you give your knives names? You do it because they have a purpose. And you respect them. And sometimes, the difference between being happy and being fucking miserable is just being able to choose who uses you. And what for. There are worse things, Nysta, than being paid to do what you do well.”
 

Still struggling with her words and her beliefs, she said nothing, and the next few hours were spent in silence. Both of them left the other to be carried away by their own thoughts.

Their own secrets.

So caught up was she in her troubled mind, the elf didn't notice for a moment as they stepped between a line of twisted trees and caught their first glimpse of the town of Grimwood Creek.

The gates were wide open and a small group of men were gathered at the front, painting the gates grey. Flags flew high at each corner. Grey flags. With an earless face in the centre.

The men, too, were dressed in grey.

All human. Caspiellans, she snarled inwardly.

Quickly overcoming her awe, the elf's brain filled with images of the last time she'd seen the Grey Jackets and could almost smell Talek's burnt flesh. The scar on her cheek burned horribly.

The warlock's mouth opened and she slapped one hand over it. Dragged him down behind the trees. Held one finger to her mouth and waited until he nodded. Took her hand off his mouth, then slowly looked around the trunk at the town.

“What's happening?” he asked morosely. “We're not getting breakfast, are we?”
 

“Looks like it ain't a bordertown no more,” she said. “Grey Jackets have taken it. They're everywhere. Looks like they're building a pyre, too. Reckon anyone who ain't human is dead. Anyone else who didn't see things their way is dead, too.”
 

“So,” he put his head into his hands and rubbed his temples. Tried to think. “They're actually doing it. They're moving into the Deadlands. Heading north again.”
 

“Looks it.”
 

“Shit. How long before they've dug themselves in? We've got to tell somebody, Nysta. Got to get to a ship. Get back to-”
 

“Shut the fuck up,” the elf hissed. Grabbed a fistful of his robe. Her eyes burned so fiercely that he nearly swallowed his own tongue. “Until I've ripped Raste's guts out through his fucking throat, we ain't going nowhere. You move now, and you'll be seen. And no one north of here will know about what's going down here, on account of us being dead. More than that, Raste will get away. And I won't allow it, 'lock. So shut the fuck up and let's think.”
 

He twisted around to get a look at the town. His shoulders slumped. “There's more inside. How many more? Dozens? Hundreds? They'd have to have more to take a fucking town like this. And are you gonna fight them all? Is one man really worth it, Nysta? You really, in your heart, believe Talek would want you to get killed for him?”

“No,” she rubbed angrily at the scar. “He wouldn't. But he'd know me well enough to know I'd try before I gave up. I'm going in there, Chukshene. With or without your help. I'll kill Raste. And his men. And any other fellers who get in my way.”
 

“You think you can take on a fucking army? What if they've got clerics? Or more mages? Or even their god? What about that, Nysta? What if Rule is there?”
 

She felt her jaw clench as she caught sight of one of Raste's companions. The big one. His axe slung over his shoulder as he stood between the open gates, looking out. She could feel his eyes skip over their position and she bit hard on her teeth to stop from running from cover. She wanted to do this right. Couldn't miss the chance.

Not now she'd come this far.

“I'll kill them all,” she said through her teeth as Tubal moved back down off the wall. “Even Rule himself.”
 

“Mad,” he said. But there was awe in his voice as he realised he had no doubt she'd try it. He could almost see her, spitting rage as she flung herself at the God of Light. “You're fucking mad. Which means I'm insaner, of course. Well, you long-eared fruitcake. Tell me, then. How are we getting in there? You got a great idea in that ugly head of yours? I hope so. Because I'm all out.”
 

Her mind flashed over the memories of what she'd allowed herself to do to get out of those  frozen Lostlight alleys, even for just a few minutes. Memories which haunted her dreams. Made her sick to the stomach. But suddenly those memories gave her strength. She'd survived where many died.

She'd done what she had to.

And no matter how hard she struggled to deny her past, it was a part of her. A foundation on which every ounce of strength she now possessed was built. And how could there be shame in surviving?

Suddenly feeling light, her violet eyes flashed dangerously as her lips curled into a wicked grin. “Oh, I reckon I still know a few tricks.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The elf called Nysta waited.

Leaning against a tree, she sat with her legs crossed and watched the warlock work. He had his book open across his knees and was murmuring whole passages in a long mumbled string.

The words meant nothing to her. They were as alien as the runes scorched on the side of the box in her jacket. And almost as ugly.

But they were working. The rising stink of magic burned the air and she could feel the hairs on her neck rising as the warlock concentrated all his energy on the attempted summoning.

Sweat poured down his face and neck. This summoning wasn't going to be as trivial as a few minor sprites. This was powerful.

She looked away. Sought to breathe the icy freshness on the wind coming from the north.

Not far away, the Grey Jackets still continued to repair the front gates of Grimwood Creek. Gates they'd no doubt been responsible for breaking. Though they kept a watch on the surrounding area, they didn't seem as concerned as they might have been had they known what the warlock was planning to unleash.

The putrid yellow light of magic ruptured through the warlock's forearms, ringed his torso, and spewed from his eyes. His body began to tremble as the words rushed faster through his teeth and the elf scrubbed hard at the scar on her cheek. Began to check her knives.

Could feel it would be soon.

His body arched painfully as he snapped a final word. The echo of that last unholy word seemed to hang in the air. Twisting into a groan as he slumped forward, his face pressing hard against the cold ground. A few sparks of electricity snaked from his his fingers into the earth.

Knowing it was over, she patted him gently on the back. Nodded at his shivering form. “Good job, 'lock,” she said. And looked around the edge of the tree.

Still waiting.

“Did it work?” he gasped.
 

She watched the Grey Jackets as one spoke quickly to others along the wall. They looked excited, she thought. Then grimaced as they pointed in her direction.

So, they'd seen something. Probably the light shining from the warlock's body.

“Nysta? Did it work?”
 

The elf cocked her head slightly. “Depends, Chukshene. What's your definition of working?”

He clutched his body, drained from the casting. “What's happening?”

The Grey Jackets dropped what they were doing and rushed to retrieve weapons before forming a defensive line in front of the gates. She gave up counting heads after she reached two dozen.

“Reckon they've downed tools,” she said, twisting her mouth into a snarl. “Having a meeting at the moment. Looking to strike soon, I figure. So I hope your spell worked, 'lock, because to me there ain't many other ways we're going to solve this dispute.”
 

“I can't feel it,” he said. Groaned as he lifted himself up onto his knees. Looked up toward the sky. “But it's coming. I'm sure of it. I got it right. I know I did.”
 

A Flaw in the Glass
seemed to tremble in her hand as she slowly drew the enchanted blade. “Be good if it hurries up,” she growled. “On account of the more over time it is, the more these fellers look ready to do more than just protest.”
 

And that's when the sky exploded.

“Eureka,” the elf spat.
 

As when he summoned gremlins, the roaring hole ripped into the fabric of the sky and spat out a fireball which screamed through the clouds. She could hear the hiss as it passed overhead, melting the air. And threw herself down as the flaming ball punched into the ground between the gates.

Several Grey Jackets too awestruck by the incoming fireball hadn't moved fast enough. Caught in the blast, their bodies were shredded and chunks of steaming flesh mingled with molten earth.

The elf winced. The ground finished shaking with a final shudder and she looked up sharply as her ears stopped ringing. Could hear screams from inside the town. Could see what looked like a bright red flag rippling in the wind from the centre of the smoking crater.

For a second, there was silence.

Just a second. Long enough to gulp a single breath, but not enough to exhale it.

And then it rose from the shattered earth. A savage beast armoured in bone spikes and glittering metallic scale. Vaguely humanoid. Like something built from leftovers.

It lifted itself to its full height, almost as high as the gates themselves, and roared through its misshapen mouth. Two curled horns reached out of its forehead like those of a bull. As the demon shook its head, those dark horns looked heavy. And desperate to gore flesh.

Even from this distance, the elf could see the size of its teeth and the tusks spearing out from its lower jaw. A small stump of a tail and claws like scythes which it scissored excitedly as it walked.

It was ugly.

And mean.

It advanced slowly, but deliberately. Cautious at first, but quickly building in anticipation. Red eyes glowed with menace and there was no doubt as to its purpose. No way of ignoring the demonic hunger rippling around it in waves of pure evil.

A few of the Caspiellan soldiers tried to slam the gates on it, but the demon reduced the gates to splinters with just a few untidy swipes of its terrible claws.

Another moment of silence as the Grey Jacket soldiers stood terrified before the demon. It rolled its shoulders. Lifted a spear from the ground. A massive spear with large cruel barbs ripping down its shaft. The thin red banner unfurled, revealing a bright glowing insignia carved into the red cloth. Terrible to look at, the elf felt her stomach roll in her guts at the sight of the demonic sign.

It stamped its heavy cloven hoof and roared again.

The Grey Jackets fled.

“Isn't it beautiful?” The warlock wiped at his eyes, cooing in delight. He looked satisfied, though he still clutched his side as he shuffled wearily up beside her. The summoning had taken a lot from him. More than anything else he'd cast since meeting her. Sweat coated his face and his eyes looked ready to fall from their sockets. “I've always wanted to pull that fucker out of my hat. A war-demon. Hard as the fucking earth. It'll tear that town apart. Nothing will stop it short of a cleric.”
 

“Let's hope there ain't any clerics, then.”
 

“No chance,” the warlock smirked. “If there were, they'd have come running as soon as I started casting that. Would've melted us where we were.”
 

“Thanks for the warning.”
 

“Any time,” he said breezily. “Now. We going in? We haven't got much time. It only lasts about half an hour.”