by Lucas Thorn
“Sure I do.” Rage flared at the confirmation she’d been used. He’d been meaning to kill her all along. There was no gold. “You want to raise some ancient gods so you can declare yourself king of the world or some stupid shit like that. Got your fingers crossed they’ll help you kill Rule too. And you needed me to do it.”
“It’s to save us, you fool! Save us. The Lord of Light will kill us all if we do nothing.”
“Bullshit. All this was just a way for you to get revenge on a family you despised. So you could take their power for yourself. But, you know, that doesn’t make me mad, Hideg. What actually makes me mad is you were gonna try and kill me.”
“Sacrifices.” He breathed deep. “Sacrifices have to be made.”
“You got it wrong, feller. The ritual you’re following? It’s flawed. You’re doing it all wrong.”
“You’re lying!”
“Ain’t lying. You figured all I needed to do was the actual killing. But it has to be my hand to place all those bodyparts on the altar. That’s why you had to take my hand at the end. To close the circle. Everything in these things is a circle. Couldn’t you see that?”
Hideg worked his mouth, eyes peeling the elf’s expression. Searching for deception.
Not finding it.
He began to look sick. “No. No, it can’t be.”
“It is, feller. So, how about you tell your soldiers to back down. You pay me, and we go our own way? Forget this shit.”
“You don’t understand. We need her. Without her, Rule will destroy us all.”
“I get that. But you failed. This time. But look around. You’ve got an army now. And a city. All yours, right? Ain’t no one to stop you.” Sighed. “Get the gold, Hideg. Get the gold and you can have your girl. Have your crown. Whatever.”
“Hideg?” Analia moaned. “Hideg…”
His brain tumbled over his options. “It’s okay, Ana. It’s going to be fine. You’ll see.”
“She hit me, Hideg. Hit me.” Fury made the woman tremble in the elf’s grip. “And she said things. Terrible things. She said you killed your father.”
“Did she?” The young man’s jaw tightened. “Ah.”
And the elf winced.
Analia reached for him. “It’s not true. I know it’s not true.”
“She shouldn’t have told you that.”
Analia blinked. “Hideg? I don’t understand.”
“You’d have made a good wife, Ana. I’m sorry. Really, I am. But I can’t trust you to keep your mouth shut.” He took a few steps back toward the soldiers. Licked his lips. Raised his voice. Pointed. “These people are traitors to the throne. The elf has murdered my father, the Duke! The others have assisted her. I want them all dead. All of them. Show no mercy.”
“Hideg?” The elf cut through the young woman’s choked cry. “You figure you’ve got it all under control. You think with all these fellers, you can sweep this up. But you forgot something. This city. Ever since I got here, people have been telling me it’s a place ready to explode.”
Klista bit her lip. Said; “Oh, fuck.”
Turned as the elf took a tighter grip on the woman and bent her over the shaft. Shoved the lantern into the woman’s startled hands.
And then, before Hideg could respond, shoved the screaming woman into the darkness. Her scream pierced the depths as she plummeted like a burning comet.
Twisting bright tail in the dark.
Fire would come.
Fire and death.
Two things the Jukkala had taught the elf to make her own.
She ran, unsure where to run to, but knowing it was time to run. The ground began to shake. To heave as though hordes of frost giants were hammering below. Soldiers looked to the stones beneath their feet.
Stumbled against each other as it buckled and twisted.
One tore the helmet from his head and threw himself toward the elf.
Bellowing her name. Over and over. Until it became a shriek above the noise.
She looked back once. Caught Hideg’s livid gaze with a cruel grin. Drawled into the sudden raging blast which incinerated the platform in one violent blast; “All it took was a Spark.”
EPILOGUE
The Nameless Mage trembled as he hurried toward his scrying bowl. Moved like a hunter with long loping strides, heavy black cloak flapping like bat wings around his slim frame.
It was her.
It had to be. The elf. He knew it before his magic even started to warm his fingers.
The last he’d seen of her was the Crossbones. And now? Now she was in Dragonclaw.
Too fast.
She was moving too fast.
Leaving a trail of destruction in her wake. A trail he’d admire if it wasn’t so bright even Rule couldn’t fail to find it. And if he found her? If he recognised her for what she was?
He’d comb the world for her. And he wouldn’t stop with her. He’d keep sniffing. For them. For the Cages.
And he’d find them.
Too soon…
Before using the bowl, the Nameless Mage tried again to contact his wayward apprentice.
Pulled at the bonds he’d tied to the boy.
Pulled hard.
And found nothing.
As if the boy had managed to sever them completely.
Which was impossible. There was no way Chukshene should have been able to master the spells in that cursed grimoire. Its magics were too complex. Too alien for an apprentice. Too alien even for any of the mages in Godsfall.
“I should’ve taken it from him,” he spat. “It wasn’t his to wield.”
But if he’d tried, he’d have had to kill the boy to ensure his silence. There was no way Chukshene would give it up without a struggle. Not after what he’d done to earn it. And, the Nameless Mage understood struggle.
Respected it.
How long had he been struggling himself?
Too long.
Maybe Chukshene had found something in his grimoire. Something too strong to control. Maybe it had overpowered him. Consumed him. That was the nature of demons.
Possible.
But unlikely.
Something else, then.
It was possible, he admitted sourly, that he’d underestimated Chukshene.
He delved into the waters of the bowl. Fingertips not quite touching the rippled surface. The dark inky plasma consumed his mind and sent it shooting across the world.
Flying.
Maybe Chukshene was with the elf. They’d been together at the Wall, so it was possible he was still lurking in her shadow.
What game was the boy playing? Was he planning to challenge his master?
Well.
He’d soon discover the futility of that. No matter how many spells he’d managed to cast from that cursed book, Chukshene would never match his own power. Irritation made him push himself harder through the scrying bowl.
He felt his soul stretch.
Then saw light.
Dragonclaw.
A city of putrid filth. He could smell its stench even in his phantasm form.
He soared between the buildings. Angling through walkways and spearing among tight-packed volcanos. The city had changed so much since he’d lived her. So much, yet so little.
She was here.
Somewhere.
Across the Ducal Keep, he felt his lips pull back into a grimace. Deathpriests had warded the walls. He could break their enchantments. It would be no challenge. But they’d know it.
Know it and start looking in places he didn’t want them to look. Their magic made them sensitive to his kind. So, he turned.
Angled away.
Toward the docks.
Sniffing the air. Exploring it with tongue.
And found what he was looking for.
“There you are,” he whispered.
And spiralled toward the ziggurat.
First thing he noticed: No deathpriests.
Second thing: No guards and the doors were open.
/> They should never be open.
Even Grim had left them shut. Had forbidden any entry.
Grim had stood before them, often for weeks at a time. Had haunted the surrounding alleys. He was no fool, though. He’d done everything to learn what he could of them but open them.
Had the elf entered? Had she guessed already?
Too soon.
He crept inside. A shadow on breath of cold wind.
Fighting.
He could hear the brutal clash of flesh and steel.
Smell the blood.
Tang of it made his heart sing.
And deeper inside the ziggurat, he leapt across a fathomless chasm onto a circular platform ringed by monolithic stones. Massive altar in the centre. Stained with ancient blood.
He lurched to a halt and widened eyes in disbelief.
An ork.
Massive.
Arms bulging. Veins corded and thick. Black shadows danced under green skin. Eyes coated in dark slime which leaked from his eyes. Mouth drawn into a vicious smile as he gave himself utterly to a frenzy of violence leaving undead creatures torn to pieces within the effortless whirlwind of his axes.
Chunks of putrid flesh were strewn across the platform. Black inky blood in thick pools. Limbs. Heads. Internal organs. A butcher’s nightmare.
Drunk on confusion, the Nameless Mage drifted toward blood.
Clash of violence like a rush in his head.
The ork roared in ecstasy of death.
Reared.
Struck again.
And again.
Then a deep pulse. A drum without echo. Thrummed through the ziggurat and coughed puffs of grit from the ceiling. Crackle as shards rained onto the platform. Like dry rattle of bones.
And the creatures fighting suddenly went rigid.
Two more fell before the ork noticed and came to a puzzled stop.
The creatures moaned as one. A moan which rose into a cry of malice.
One of the creatures turned toward the Nameless Mage. Eyes empty and swallowing darkness. Depthless sockets stared at him, and he felt the singing of his heart become a dirge.
They raised arms as one.
Pointing.
Pointing right at him.
Fear whipped his soul as a scream split the air behind him.
A girl’s scream.
Scream of terror and outrage.
He spun. Fled the room in panicked flight. Could almost feel the air writhe as he shot through the dark.
Why was she here?
And the ork! Impossible!
They were converging. Converging too soon!
Into the night, he rushed. A frightened bat.
Shooting across the city and over the bay, horror turning him toward home. He tightened his grip, and prepared to send his awareness catapulting back to the scrying bowl.
Then saw the ship.
Angling toward the mouth of the bay.
It battled rough seas and its captain shouted at his crew.
Shouted at the wind.
Then shouted at his passengers.
Who stood against the heavy dragon prow.
With inaudible moan, he fell like a comet. Drawn to her.
Moth to flame.
He didn’t want to.
Wanted only to unfurl his fear like a flag in the wind. To return to the safety of the Tower.
But her face…
Beautiful. Captured in the translucent light of the moon. His old heart threaded veins with hot blood. A mix of hate and desire. A rush of emotion he didn’t want to feel but was helpless to resist.
“What is it?” Her bodyguard, Jagtooth, beside her. Almost a match in size for the ork he’d just seen in the ziggurat.
“Something,” Imperial Princess Asa said. Softly. “Something big. It’s coming. I can feel it. Wait. There!”
And it happened.
The ground shook so hard that even the sea seemed to froth and foam with it. Waves roiled, spitting spray into the wind.
Distant thunder from the heart of the city.
The air shuddered.
Silent pause.
Then the skyline burst into fire as Dragonclaw tore itself apart with volcanic fury. The Ducal Keep was the first to explode. Stone blocks the size of houses tossed into air like they were nothing. Pummelling streets as they arced back to earth. Ripping and tearing the ground open with fists of flame and burning rubble.
Shockwave thumped outward from the city slamming an unearthly silence to ears deafened by the blast.
Staccato flashes of light as explosions burst from the ground. Molten sludge bubbled and vomited from sewer tunnels.
Towering structures slid into crumpled heaps, dragging occupants to crushing doom. Others lost their stone-clad faces, exposing wrecked guts to the world..
Smaller buildings cracked walls and shivered in place.
A burning chain of flame dragged through the city’s diseased bowels on chains of fire. Fire which began to consume everything it touched.
He wanted to weep.
Who had this kind of power?
Who else?
She’d done it. The elf.
Somehow, it had to be.
Sound pushed through his stunned silence. Muffled by the ringing in his ears.
Waves crashing.
Sailors howling.
A seabird screaming.
The ork. Roaring at the captain to turn the boat.
Turn it back.
And then Asa shouting over the top. “No! No, we sail to Dragonclaw! Onward! Onward for the Empire!”
Voice clear and defiant.
The control in her voice made even his own shrivelled heart lose its panicked beat.
It was natural, he thought. Natural to feel safe when someone took control.
Jagtooth stopped short of shaking her as his words reflected the thoughts of the Namless Mage. “You can’t mean that! Look at it. We’d be heading into chaos. I can’t protect you in that.”
“Trust me,” she said. And her laughter shot chills down the Nameless Mage’s ethereal spine. “Can’t you see what’s happening?”
“Yeah. I’m not blind. It’s on fire.” Scowl. “Rule has finally invaded the Fnordic Lands. He’s come to do what he promised. Drive us with fire into the ice.”
“No, you’re wrong. It’s not him. It’s her! Nysta. She’s right there in the heart of it. I told you she was here.”
The ork shook his head, not wanting to believe. “No. It can’t be.”
But Asa was spinning on the deck, delighted peals of laughter turning the faces of sailors pale.
Until she stopped.
Frozen in place like a doll. Perfect. A dancer trapped in mid-step. Motionless in moonlight.
Unconsciously, he reached for her.
And her face turned.
Aimed right at him.
Eyes bright and malicious.
“Take a good long look, you foul old thing,” she said. “Then watch with me as Dragonclaw burns. Watch as its ashes seethe in the passage of her hate. Then return to your hole under the Tower. Bury yourself as deep as you can. And know it’s all for nothing. Because, when she’s finished here, she’s coming for you. And there’s nowhere in this world you can hide…”
Nysta will return in her next adventure:
The Shivs of Dragonclaw
Coming Soon
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This is Nysta’s 8th adventure, and the 9th in the overall Shadowed Realm series. I never expected to get this far, to tell the truth. While I knew I wanted to tell this story, I never expected anyone to actually enjoy it! It has been deeply satisfying to hear you have enjoyed the ride and I never get tired of hearing it.
As this is her 8th, I’d like to remind you all that I am an Indie writer. I have one of them day jobs. I have spent a lot of money on art this year to help spice up the website, Twitter, and Facebook. To excite your eyeballs with while you wait.
If you’ve enjoyed the series so far, please cons
ider reviewing it. Consider also sharing it on forums you might belong to. Reddit. Twitter. SFFWorld.
All the places.
Also, my website has an option for you to donate via Paypal. My books are cheap, and they’ll always stay cheap, so if you feel they were worth a coke or something, your donations cheer my soul.
In the meantime, I’d love to thank everyone who’s shown their support over the past 5 years. Those of you who’ve written reviews (even 1-star), I thank you for the time you took to share your views. I thank you for the emails, the tweets, the comments on my Facebook page.
Thanks to my peeps on Facebook and Twitter. You’re all amazing. Every one of you.
Thanks to Sacae for the friendship and support.
Thanks to T.O. Munro for including me in articles (he gives great article).
Thanks to Amir Zand and Alexandru Munteanu aka Andy Weasel for the amazeballs art this year.
Thanks to Mark Lawrence for generously hosting and building the incredibly selfless SPFBO. And to Pornokitsch for taking a chance and reviewing Hemlock and Melganaderna this year.
Thanks also to Antonio Fulfaro (always know when to leave), Fiona Le (who drowned in shit), and Jorge Lozano Lopez (underappreciated), for allowing me to include them in a book which I can neither confirm nor deny was inspired by a small insignificant company I parted ways with in July.
This book is for all of you who work in industries where you are being off-shored and treated as disposable by employers more interested in amassing personal fortunes than showing gratitude to the staff who worked hard for their cars, holiday homes, and disgustingly privileged fucking lives. This book is completely and utterly for you.
Which is a good place to offer the following advice: If you hire a writer, be careful. Or you might just end up in their book…
