Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2) (6 page)

Nysta grimaced. She hadn't even considered if he'd slept or not. Just assumed he had.

No wonder he was tired. He'd stayed up all night protecting her. At great cost, because he'd already exhausted himself before she'd lost consciousness. And then he'd managed, somehow, to keep up with her all day as she marched him over a shifting ocean of shale.

More guilt.

Grudgingly, she admitted he might be tougher than she thought.

Also admitted she might owe him.

And she hated debts.

“Obliged,” she grunted, unsure what else to say.
 

“I'm overwhelmed.”
 

“Stick it up your ass, then,” she said. “All the same to me.”
 

But it wasn't. The conflict of suspicion and obligation wrestled her emotions for dominance and the elf couldn't tell which would win. She'd never been comfortable around other people, and everything about Chukshene seemed to underscore the very reasons why she chose to avoid making any ties.

For his part, the warlock appeared unconcerned. Continued to stumble along behind her like a lost puppy. “Those rags in your hair. How many of those did you kill?”

“Few more than some. Why bring it up again?”
 

“I'm interested.”
 

“It ain't your business.”
 

“So? Call me nosey.”
 

“Prefer to cut your nose off, Chukshene. Stick it up your ass, and call you an asshole.”
 

“Come on, Long-ear. Help me learn something. I'm not from around here, remember? Believe it or not, I'm not trying to fuck with you. Just trying to learn a few things about you and your kind.”
 

The elf dragged the back of her hand across her forehead, smearing the beads of sweat. Squinted into the distance.

The headache was returning. She figured maybe she was allergic to his questions.

“Ain't sure you're telling the truth, 'lock,” she said eventually. “But ask your questions. Just don't expect any right answers.”
 

“Fair enough. So, why do you take them? Does it make you feel good remembering your kills?”
 

“Good or bad, it means nothing. It ain't a game, and I ain't keeping score. You think these are trophies of kills? They ain't just kills, 'lock. Sometimes they're just reminders I'm alive.”
 

“Alive,” he echoed sadly. “Yeah. I guess you'd see it that way.”
 

“That cryptic shit mean anything?” she snapped, irritated by the pity in his voice. “Or you just flapping your lips to keep your teeth warm?”
 

“Just that you grew up on the streets. Of a city which might've been more than its fair share of tough. So, you wouldn't look for happiness is all I'm saying. You'd look for survival. Don't be so touchy. Maybe I'm trying to say I feel bad for you for not having any flowers in your hair when you were a little girl. You know what I'm saying? I'm sad for you. Not everything's an insult. I still don't think it's a great excuse, though. Lots of people have tough lives.”
 

“You ever gone against the odds, 'lock? I mean, really gone against them? Not just one or two, but maybe a dozen. Just you in a dark alley, and a bunch of fellers keen to slit you up the middle. They've got hatchets. Swords. Daggers, or whatever the fuck. You're outnumbered. Got no chance. You're going to die. You can feel it. But you throw yourself in there, because what else are you gonna do? And ain't nothing or no one is coming to save you. The only thing stopping you from getting killed is your own arm. Each thud of your blade in the flesh of another is a chance you'll make it through the next few seconds alive,” she slapped a hand against the flat back of a boulder as she passed it. It stung as the cold bit into her palm. “Ever feel that, Chukshene?”
 

“No,” he said quietly. “Put it like that, and maybe I haven't.”
 

“Then you ain't lived. When it's over. When they're dead. And you're standing alone? Your whole core is emptied. Your thoughts can't string together. Heart beating so fast it's a mad hum in your ears like a fucking swarm of wasps. It's the worst thing. And it's the best thing.” She felt a rush of raw emotion as she spoke. “I ain't saying it's the right thing. But when you've spent your whole life living like a frightened mouse in a back street doing anything to survive, then being alive when shit goes down is something you just can't give back. Seems right to keep something to remind you of it.”
 

“It's still fucking gruesome.”
 

“Because you don't know! You ain't been there. It ain't about living out the kills. Ain't about remembering the look in their eyes, or feeling their blood on your face. Ain't about their pain, their suffering, or the joy of fucking killing. It's about the feeling. That rush of life you get when you realise you've survived something you had no right to survive.”
 

“It's still barbaric,” he said, almost stumbling as his tired legs struggled to keep up with her quickening pace. “You know, we got some awful shit in Doom's Reach, too. I mean, it's the biggest fucking city in the world. So it's gotta have a few more dark alleys full of scum than most, right? And I remember, a few years ago, City Watch caught some guy who'd been cutting up little girls. Little girls. Like, no more than ten years old. You know what kind of killer I'm talking about? The worst kind. Maybe worse than you. I don't know for sure, because I can't make up my mind about you. But when they got him, they found he kept pieces of the girls around his neck. On a leather thong. Bits of their flesh. I didn't think anyone could be so evil. And it doesn't seem like what you're doing is any different.”
 

The elf rubbed her cheek. “It's very different, Chukshene. Think about it like this. If one of those kids survived. If she'd managed to kill him instead. And gutted him like a pig. If she cut off his cock and wore it round her neck, I bet you'd think differently.”

“I doubt it. And you ain't a little girl, Nysta. Seems you're more like him. You remember that guy back there? He was the victim here. He couldn't fight you. Couldn't stop you. Couldn't do anything but die.”
 

“He died long before I stuck him, 'lock,” she growled. “Died the second he planted a knife into the only man I ever loved. Just took a while for him to stop breathing was all.”
 

“I'm just saying. You ain't a victim anymore. You're a killer. That's it. End of story.”
 

“Don't be so one-eyed,” she said dismissively. “I am what I am.”
 

His words didn't disturb her. There was nothing in them she hadn't already thought about many times. But when she considered the chasm she'd had to cross from being scared waif to the fighter she'd become, there wasn't a single thing she'd done which she wouldn't do again.

Except, she added silently, kill Raste.

The warlock nursed his silence for a few minutes before asking; “You ever wonder what happened to the people in Spikewrist? If any might have survived?”

“Nope. Figure that's their business. And if you figured it was yours, you'd have gone back to look yourself. This is the Deadlands, Chukshene. Meanest fucking shithole in the world. If they couldn't defend themselves, they had no right being out here. So don't pin your fucking guilt on me. I've got enough of my own.” Maybe she'd have said more. But something warm brushed the back of her neck and she slapped it.
 

There were a lot of insects in the Deadlands. Most of them inactive in the Winter.

Especially with snow coming like the inevitable tide.

A frown started to crease her forehead as she looked at her empty hand, but a long wailing howl split her thoughts as though with an axe.

A hideous sound. Defiant and hungry.

Others quickly answered it.

The warlock froze mid-step. “If I ask what that is, am I going to regret it?”

“Depends.” She spat her disgust onto a patch of snow at her feet.
 

“On?”
 

“If you like Draug.”
 

“Really?” Chukshene paled. “I think I'd prefer goblins.”
 

She knew his mind was filling with the fear of being eaten alive. Knew also he had no energy left to cast even the simplest spell. That they'd have only her blades to rely on. And their legs.

“Relax.” She moved faster. Headed toward the ruins as shadows flickered between the trees like arrows. “We can make it. We can't fight them out here. We'll find somewhere in there to hole up in until they move on. They ain't got the brains to stick around. Draug give up easy.”
 

“And if they don't?”
 

“Every man has the right to make choices about his life,” she said, suddenly philosophical.
 

“What choice? To be eaten alive, or eaten dead?”
 

“That's one,” she allowed easily. Curled her lip into a crooked smile which twisted the scar on her cheek. “But I reckon you're about old enough to know how to say no to Draugs.”
 

CHAPTER SIX

The barking howls of undead Draug combined hideously into an orchestra of bloodlust. She could see their twisted shadows as they skittered from the trees to dance among the massive boulders. Their excitement chilled her to the bone as fear clutched an icy hand around her spine.

The warlock bounced off a boulder as they ran. “Fuck,” he swore, rubbing his shoulder as he tried to keep upright. “Nysta. They're gaining. I thought you said they were slow!”

They are, Chukshene,” she said, gliding over the terrain in a way that made the warlock think of running water. He turned his lip jealously as she glanced at him. Grinning, the elf finished mildly; “But so are you.”

“Slow? Me?” His voice rose sharply as terror and outrage competed for equal footing. Outrage won, for now. “Bullshit, slow! I'll tell you, Long-ear, when I was an apprentice, I out-fucking-ran orks! I'd race those greenskinned fuckers all over Doom's Reach. Any time! And I never fucking lost. So you can stick your slow up your skinny fucking ass! Fuck you. I'm slow? I'm faster than fuck.”
 

“What happened since then, Chukshene?” The elf leapt nimbly onto a large chunk of stone almost as tall as she was. Pulling herself up, she shot the panting warlock an amused look. “Let me guess. You took an arrow to the knee?”
 

“What?” He reeled forward, almost drunkenly. Winced and leaned hard against the stone, sweat dripping down his face. His tone was miserable. “What the fuck are you talking about? I'm fit. Fast. I can fucking outrun anything. Anything, I tell you. Just give me a minute. Catch my breath. Just one fucking minute. Shit, I've been running for weeks. Months, maybe.”
 

She felt her heart race as more shadows flickered in the distance.

Ten. Twenty? Thirty?

Fucking fifty, for all she knew. Too many to count.

Too many to kill?

The sharp tip of her tongue dragged over the top of her lip as she dropped her hand to
A Flaw in the Glass
. Was there such a thing as too many to kill?
 

But these were Draug, she reminded herself. It was impossible to kill undead with normal blades.

Well. Almost impossible.

Something deep inside her considered the challenge.

Grinning at the madness of the thought, the elf dropped next to the warlock and slapped a hand on his shoulder. “We've got to go, Chukshene. Now. Run, or be killed. Your choice.”

His face was haggard and his expression haunted as he looked up. His eyes watered, unable to focus properly. “I can't. Nysta, I'm fucked.”

Her fist took him clean on the cheek and he was thrown back, sprawling over the hard stone ground. It wasn't a heavy punch. Just enough to get his attention.

It worked.

Clutching his cheek, the warlock shot her a surprised look. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

“Wake you up.” She bared her teeth and ran her fingers through her hair, feeling the pressure of time squeezing in on her. “Look, Chukshene, I know you're tired. I know you reckon you can't go on. You want to just sit here. Want to make a stand right here. But I'm telling you, we can't. This ain't the place. And if you think I'll stay out here and die for you, you're wrong. So you get the fuck up right now, and you run. You run until your fucking heart explodes in your chest. And then you get up and you fucking run some more. Because if you don't, you're a dead fuck. And there ain't nothing I can do to save you. You listening, Chukshene? You get the fuck up right now. You hear me? Right fucking now.”
 

He massaged his cheek, fresh blood moist between his fingers. His expression was hurt, but slowly he nodded as reality swamped hysteria. Pulled himself to his feet, shoulders slumped. “I hear. And I'm sorry. I must look like a weak shit to you.”

The elf felt a brief stab of guilt as she remembered his reason for not sleeping was to watch over her. But she had no choice but to urge him on.  “Tell you what's worse.”

“What?”
 

“Those fellers there.” She pointed a finger to where a figure lurched into view. Too far to be an immediate threat, it was nonetheless more solid than the spidery shadows still darting between the rocks further away. It wore rags for clothes. And its flesh, even from this distance, looked rancid and peeling.
 

It howled as it caught sight of them. Slapped its stomach and headed toward them. A few more rolled out of the shadows on gnarled legs and followed in the same crooked gait.

“Grim's mouldy fucking blistered cock! Move! Move! Come on, Long-ear!” He pushed past her, suddenly filled with the kind of energy that only comes when a heart is filled with horror. His robe flapped wildly. He looked, she thought, like a bat leaving the Shadowed Halls.
 

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” she murmured, skirting a large boulder and sprinting ahead.
 

More hoots erupted from their right, and the elf caught sight of more Draug spilling onto the plain. An army of them. They moved with the morbid gracelessness of the undead. Their bodies twisted like spastic puppets. But puppets with sharp claws and savage teeth.