Sea of Revenants (Nysta Book 6)

by Lucas Thorn

Disappointed, Trude tightened her lips. “That’s it?”

  “Beer,” the elf said.

  “Fine.” Trude made to turn, but the elf’s hand snaked out and took her by the shirt. Yanked hard, drawing a startled yelp as she pulled the woman down so they were nose-to-nose.

  “I said I was having the fish.”

  “I heard, I heard!”

  “Reckon you forgot something.”

  “Forgot?” Trude clawed at the elf’s hand, trying to shake herself free, but couldn’t break the iron grip. “What d’you mean? Jakob! Help me, Jakob, she’s got me-”

  “Forgot to tell me to have a nice day,” the elf hissed. “And enjoy my meal.”

  “What?”

  “Have a nice day,” the elf repeated. “And enjoy your meal. Say it.”

  The young bargirl struggled again before blurting; “Have a nice day. Enjoy your fuckin’ meal!” Twisted her face hatefully. “There. You happy now?”

  “Not really. But I’ll let you know if I feel worse.” She released Trude’s shirt. “Also let you know I’ve got ears. Two of them. And I can hear when you call me Tainted. It’s a word I ain’t happy to hear. Makes me think you’re Caspiellans. I don’t like Caspiellans. Sure, I met two I ain’t killed yet, but I usually get around to gutting them all sooner or later. Are you a Caspiellan, girl?”

  Trude’s face drained of blood. “You…”

  “Then keep your fucking mouth shut. Especially around my food. Spit in it, and I’ll take your tongue. Reckon that about covers everything that’s pissing me off since I walked in here. You got anything to say to my face?”

  A strangled gasp. “Jakob!”

  “Just give ‘em what they want,” he called. But his eyes burned with sullen hate. “She’ll get hers one day. Her kind always will.”

  The elf didn’t turn to watch the woman scuttle back behind the relative safety of the bar. Nor did she see the spiteful looks aimed at her by the old men at the back of the room.

  Instead, she turned her gaze toward the front and watched a few dark figures move past outside.

  Caught the grin buried in the dark of Lux’s hood as he spoke. “Tell me, Nysta. Did you enjoy that?”

  “Sure, feller.” She returned his grin with a cruel one of her own. “Feel just like the cat who got more than his share of creamed fish.”

  “I don’t think I know that story,” he said, genuinely puzzled.

  “Well, I ain’t the one who can tell it,” she said, leaning back in her chair and letting the muscles in her shoulders finally begin to relax. “On account of my being an elf and not a red dwarf.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Despite being fish, she had to admit it wasn’t bad. Peppered thick with spices she found exotic and thrilling to her tongue. Spices unlike anything she’d had before.

  The beer wasn’t watered down too much.

  The mug was clean.

  And the atmosphere was quiet as she ate.

  But none of these things helped improve her mood when the front door crashed open and three men unloaded themselves inside. One kicked the door shut and slammed the bolts in place while Trude shrieked and pointed. “She’s there! Right there! That’s the bitch, Tom! Get her!”

  The deathpriest’s skeletal hand locked around his staff as Tom lunged. “Do you need help?”

  “I ask for any?” Then shoved herself back in her chair, avoiding Tom’s beefy fist swung at her face.

  Rolled sideways, hitting the floor before springing into a crouch. A Flaw in the Glass flared venomously, the green enchantment perhaps responding to the hate blooming in her guts.

  Her eyes slid over the three newcomers.

  Similar faces with wide cheeks and broad jaws. Related, she guessed. But it was what she’d expect to find in a town this size.

  Baling hooks in large hands. Hooks like the one she’d used herself on the Blue Ox. But this time they weren’t fishing for draug. Rope belts with daggers sheathed. Knuckles white and eager. Arms built for lifting cargo.

  Charcoal smeared across cheeks. Old filth stained deep into their clothes. Similar wool and cotton as everyone else. Drab and grey.

  Lifeless.

  Her lip curled.

  No armour to stop a knife.

  They’d come expecting a brawl.

  In short, they were fools.

  But fast fools.

  Tom’s fist blasted into her side as she worked to peel back her surprise and find rage burning again in her belly. Rage which twisted the frozen core of fear as tight as the crooked grin on her face twisted the scar. Her breath coughed from her lungs at the impact and she spun around, feeling the baling hook rake across her back.

  And remembered another time a hook had sunk into her flesh.

  An elf named Torak had done that.

  Paid for it, too.

  Almost as hard as she was going to make Tom pay.

  One of the others jumped down next to Lux, pressing his own hook into the folds of the deathpriest’s cloak. “Don’t you fuckin’ move, you fuckin’ Tainted cunt,” he snarled. “I’ll rip your fucking face off!”

  The deathpriest didn’t move. But it wasn’t fear which held him back.

  He just had no reason to move.

  “What the-”

  Tom had time only to blurt those two words before Nysta turned, a savage whirlwind on soft leather boots. Swept one leg into Tom’s shin. The heel smashed into bone. Hurt him, too, but didn’t break it. He refused to fall. Refused to bend.

  Instead, he followed through, carried along on a wave of Trude’s eager shouts. Showing he’d also seen enough tavern brawls to know you don’t pause.

  Don’t stop.

  Not until the other feller is too hurt to move.

  Or dead.

  The fist cracked into her chin, sending sparks into her brain as she dropped.

  Wobbled unsteadily for a moment then scrambled out of reach. Reeled drunkenly as her mind struggled to clear.

  Tasted blood.

  Spat it out.

  The kid was fast, she allowed. Faster than most humans she’d met.

  “Kill ‘er!” Trude screamed. “Kill ‘er, Tom!”

  “Watch out, boy!” This from Jakob, who’d seen her palm Drifting Wingless Things from her boot as she’d fallen.

  The blade was wide, but not long. Handle thick and built for bigger hands. She’d taken it from the body of an ork she’d cut down. It was a blade which knew nothing of finesse. Nothing of wounding. It knew only murder.

  Something she knew plenty about.

  Tom, eyes blazing with adrenaline and a young man’s dream of glory, saw the knife only as a flash. A snicker of movement not worth his attention. Moved one hand to slap it away, thinking it was just her fist.

  His scream shook the tavern’s walls.

  Drifting Wingless Things dove through meat. A spade through snow. Carved through the tips of his fingers before ramming into his belly. Split his guts apart as it sought something more substantial.

  Something mortal.

  And found it.

  He staggered, kicking wildly as he sought to save himself.

  “What’ve you done?” His words trickled free in a fragile whisper too delicate for someone of his size. “What’ve you done to me?”

  He left a surging river of dark red in his wake. A river winding its way toward the elf’s boots.

  “Tom?” Trude’s voice was surprisingly gentle. Almost a song.

  The last song he’d ever hear.

  Silence stretched as the young man’s brothers stared wide-eyed at the blood splashing down his legs.

  Tom turned to the man with his hook pressed into the deathpriest’s side. Lux’s upper face was still shrouded by his cowl, but his mouth and chin expressed wicked satisfaction as Tom’s words obliterated the pause between heartbeats.

  “She’s killed me, Dirk,” he said. Then dropped onto his back, crying. Fingers delving at the source of his dying with weakening fingers.

  “Tom!” Tru
de made to hurry to his side, but Jakob grabbed her arm and held her hard, his own gaze still locked on the elf.

  Whose expression was ice.

  Whose fist still clenched A Flaw in the Glass.

  She’d just killed a man. And she wasn’t finished.

  Fury made her voice sharp. “Anyone who doesn’t want to die, get the fuck out right now.” Jakob was the first to move, and made to drag Trude with him, but Darting with Passion speared from the elf’s hand to quiver in the wall beside his head and freeze them in place. “Not you two. You get to wait. You get to watch.”

  The older regulars dropped their mugs and darted for the back, practically falling over themselves. One of the younger ones looked at Jakob. Shrugged. Then limped out the rear exit.

  The ork didn’t move.

  But nor was he snoring. Hadn’t been since the front door had been kicked open.

  When they were alone, the elf returned her gaze to the two young men.

  Dirk’s hand quivered and he pushed his hook harder into Lux’s cheek. “Don’t you come closer.” He licked his lips as she took her first step. “I’ll kill him. I will. I fucking will!”

  “Do it, then,” she said through her teeth. “More than once I’ve wanted to cut him up myself. But he reckons he can’t die.”

  “Otto?”

  The third youth hovered over his fallen brother whose chest had ceased to move. His fingers dipped into the blood and he looked at the redness before wiping two thick red lines across his right cheek.

  Which made the elf pause. “What the fuck?”

  She’d seen that gesture before.

  Knew it well.

  Otto leapt at her in that moment, snarling like a rabid animal. Hook slashed at air and his knife dove toward her shoulder. A Flaw in the Glass sparked as it came up, blocking the hook from finding her neck. The green enchantment licked the hook hungrily, and the elf turned, wrenching her torso to escape the plunging death offered by his knife.

  But he, too, was quicker than expected and his knife turned sharp in the air. Nicked her cheek as she spun free.

  Enraged by the cut, she charged him, slamming her shoulder in low and rising with the impact to send the wind whooshing from his mouth. Whatever he was. However he’d been trained. He was nothing, she told herself.

  Nothing.

  Gasping for air he could no longer reach, he brought his arm up fast to instinctively block the bright green flash tunnelling for his face. Earned a deep cut up the side of his arm.

  Then Dirk was there. Desperately, he’d flung himself from his chair beside the deathpriest.

  He was a blur of desperate energy, wild and youthful.

  His hook, primed for killing, missed her cheek by a hair and instead continued in a flashing arc to puncture the back of her left fist.

  Drove through with enough force to make her drop the enchanted blade which skittered on a frustrated huff of sparks. He yanked on the baling hook, hard enough to spin her round. Agony blasted through the initial shock and again she found herself filled with images of Torak’s leering face.

  There was a wriggle.

  A twitch in the back of her shoulders.

  And then the darkness inside burst like water from an exploding dam.

  It shot down her forearm and the elf screamed, feeling the pressure build inside as the worms rushed to the source of pain. Her wrist swelled against the bracer pulled tight along her arm.

  Heard Otto moving again.

  Had no choice.

  She tore her hand free of the hook, feeling muscle and sinew stretch and snap. Feeling bones twist and crack. Screamed with the pain of it. A scream which drew a demonic shriek from Trude.

  The woman pounded the bar with both fists. “That’s it, Dirk! You got ‘er. Kill ‘er for Tom!”

  But he didn’t have her.

  Never had a chance. Not really.

  Staggering backwards while ignoring her useless arm, the elf’s right was moving despite the pain. She drew, aimed, and threw Go With My Blessing in one fluid movement.

  The blade spun.

  Twittered in the light.

  And sank into his forehead with a crisp thud. He didn’t even get to scream. Dropped like a ragdoll, arms flopping outward and tangling around Otto’s legs as the last brother pushed forward.

  “Rule blind you,” Otto spat. “I’ll fuckin’-”

  He got no further.

  Lux reared from his seat like a furious snake. Flung his cowl back to aim his blind face at the young man. Deafening the boy with his roar. “How dare you utter such blasphemy!”

  “I-”

  The deathpriest lashed out with his staff. It connected, the top thrusting Otto in the chest.

  The young man blinked.

  Opened his mouth.

  And exploded.

  There was no other word for it, she thought. He turned to a mist of red which powdered the bar, the floor, the nearby tables, and the wall behind where Jakob and Trude watched in horror.

  Spattered their faces.

  Sprayed across the elf.

  No piece of him larger than a single drop was left. Motes of red which had once been a man.

  As the echo of the deathpriest’s spell made the ground tremble, blood began to slide down the walls with gravity, forming greater drops. Then rivers which soaked into the wooden floor.

  Nysta twisted her mouth and wiped her face with the back of her right fist, her left temporarily forgotten in the stunned aftermath.

  And when Trude began to shriek wildly, the ork finally lifted himself from his table. Wandered casually around the bar. The elf watched him move, eyes narrowing despite the pain shooting in piercing waves up her arm.

  He walked up to to the screaming woman. Leaned down to peer at her. “Trude?”

  She looked back at him, delirious and wide-eyed. Vacant.

  Still screaming.

  “Trude!” He pushed a big finger against her open lips. “Hush, Trude. I was trying to sleep. You know I can’t sleep with Nearne running around like she does. I like it here because it’s peaceful. You’re hurting my ears now with all that wailing. And I’ve got sensitive ears, you know.”

  The terrified bargirl raised an arm. Pointed. “She-”

  “Yeah. She made a mess. I can see that.” The ork looked around, wincing at the sheets of blood over everything. Tightened his belt and brushed away a few crumbs of his meal from his guard uniform. “Best you get a bucket. And a mop. You’ll be needing it, I reckon.”

  Lux stood proudly amid the destruction. Straight-backed. A cruel expression toying at his mouth. Aimed his face toward the ork. Cocked his head as he worked to sense any possible threat. “And you are…?”

  “Put your stick down, deathpriest,” the ork said. “I ain’t stupid, so I ain’t looking to fuck with you. Name’s Rockjaw. I’m what passes for the law on the docks. For now, anyway. Lucky for you I was in the back here and saw it all. Jakob here’s got other friends, you know. Kind who’d have you strung up by afternoon. As it is, with me here and all, I reckon old Jakob can maybe agree he fucked up. Right, Jakob? You fucked up.”

  “But she killed Tom!” Trude looked horrified. “You can’t just let her go. She killed him. Look at him. He’s dead!”

  “Stop it, Trude,” Jakob snarled. “Just stop it, before you say something even more stupid.”

  Nysta clutched the jagged hole in her limp hand and looked down, seeing the rush of black beneath her skin and feeling more sickened by that than the explosion of gore caused by Lux. The tightness in her arm was working to stop most of the pain from screeching through her skull. As though the worms were cutting off all sensation to the nerves of her hand.

  By rights, she figured she should be writhing on the ground in agony.

  Blood dribbled off her fingertips. Spattered the floor and was lost in the gleaming ocean of crimson already there.

  She looked up again, sure she recognised the ork from somewhere but unable to place him. She’d seen more tha
n her share of orks since making it to the Wall. Couldn’t recall seeing him there, though.

  Kneeling, she knelt beside Tom’s body. Grabbed hold of Drifting Wingless Things and pulled the blade free of his guts with a wet sucking sound which made Trude spin away and retch loudly.

  The ork watched, aiming a smirk at Jakob as the old bartender flinched.

  “Reckon I need that, too,” the elf said, jerking her head to where Darting With Passion was buried in the wall. Then moved toward Dirk’s body still gripping Go With My Blessing with his brain.

  “I’ll get it,” Rockjaw said. He reached out to pluck the knife easily from the wood. “Anything else you wanna report, Jakob?”

  The owner tightened his jaw. “Nothing.” He said. Ground his teeth as he looked over the elf and the deathpriest. “But I want you out. I want you all the fuck out now. This is my place, greenskin. Mine! And I’ll tell you this much as you leave. You better watch your fucking back.”

  “That a threat?” The ork raised an eyebrow. “Threatening a guard is serious business. Even these days.”

  “Yeah? Well, you try reporting it. Just fucking try.”

  “Nath’ll get you,” Trude hissed. “He’ll get you all! You’ll see!”

  “Well, long-ear,” the ork sighed as they shuffled from the Cat’s Dinner and back into the street where the air smelled of salt and sea. “Can’t say it’s too good to see you again. Also don’t think I owe you any real favours. But I do reckon it’s best you two come with me for now, because Jakob’s right. You’ll want to avoid dark alleys. And most of the guard. A whole lot of them have thrown in with Nath’s bunch, and they’re getting louder of late. They’ll either cut you down or arrest you for some petty bullshit. Pay one of their villains to kill you in a cell. Now, I’ve seen you can take care of yourself, but don’t count on it being as easy as that. Tom and his brothers weren’t much more than dock workers and as soon as Nath gets an earful of what you just did, he’ll send worse than them. And it won’t be to talk. They’re gonna want you dead. Real bad.”

  “Reckon they already showed us how bad they want me dead,” the elf said, nursing her arm as they walked. “By hook or by crook.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The streets were beginning to empty, with some of the hawkers closing their stalls as the raiders and assorted merchant sailors either found a nearby inn or headed back to sleep aboard their ships. More than a few, full of drink, decided to just sleep in the closest alley they could find.