by Lucas Thorn
But he’d also known the crumpled boy who lay beside his parents. Cut so deep, the skin of his throat lay back in flaps to reveal the bones of his neck.
At sight of the boy, the ork had charged the men. Men they were trying to avoid.
“Sorry,” he murmured, dropping the grisly remains at his feet. Wiped his hands on his pants without thinking. “I couldn’t help it. Kid’s name is Fenton. He’s a good kid. Was close to Nearne. At least, he was always hanging around with this goofy fucking grin on his face. I think she liked him. Fuck. This world’s gone to shit.”
The elf looked down at a fresh cut in her thigh and tried to stop wondering if the fight had been worth it. Allowed the cut would heal, but she was accumulating wounds. Too many for the black worms inside her body to focus on.
They were spreading thinner, she thought. Healing slower, she thought.
And was surprised by the flash of disappointment. She’d hated the thought of the darkness inside her. Always wanted to vomit when she thought about how it’d torn through the skin of her arm to climb into her veins.
But the way her shoulder had healed was something she could live with.
If only Talek had opened it…
The elf shook her head, bringing herself back to the present with a grunt. Wiped the back of her hand across her forehead to clear the sweat and nodded. “Let’s get the fuck out of here before someone else comes along. Someone had to hear that.”
The words had hardly left her mouth when the sound of booted feet beat a dull rhythm from the street curling up the hill in front of them.
Rockjaw rolled his eyes, then launched away, heading to another street further back. Away from the incoming raiders. “No one ever taught you there’s some things you really shouldn’t say, did they?”
The blind deathpriest kept pace with Rockjaw, decayed face giving nothing of his thoughts. He’d not participated in the fighting, preferring to hang back and wait.
Had answered one of her irritated comments by pointing out he was blind.
“My power is not as focused as those of my brethren. I told you this. I am more likely to destroy the entire town than a single thug,” Lux sneered back. “So you might want to leave it first.”
Whether he was truly as powerful as he claimed, the elf couldn’t guess.
There had been few real mages in Lostlight. King Jutta hadn’t trusted them. Since the fall of Grim, he’d begun to think magic, even that delivered by the Dark Lord himself, was controlled by Rule.
The longest she’d spent with any spellslinger was her time with Chukshene. And he was a warlock. She’d seen him raise demons. Shoot energy from his hands. That had been powerful enough. But flatten a town? She didn’t think he could do that, so wasn’t sure if the blind deathpriest could manage it either.
But Rockjaw hadn’t said anything. Seemed to accept Lux’s words as fact.
And there was something between them. Some knowledge which relied on Rockjaw’s murky past. A past she guessed had him positioned in the Fnordic Imperial army at the time the Dark Lord had fallen.
Which was some forty years ago.
He didn’t look that old for an ork, who aged at a similar rate as elfs. Slower than humans.
Still, he must’ve been young, she thought.
Whatever he’d seen, it had scarred him deep. Deep enough he wanted to be forgotten.
Only, circumstances were forcing him to remember lessons he’d worked to forget. Lessons which proved his efficiency at ending lives.
He thundered into the side street, rolling his heavy shoulders and growling in the back of his throat. A growl which turned into a sigh as he was swept along a river of thoughts no doubt linked to that past which haunted him.
As they passed a row of broken homes, a voice hissed out of the dark. “Rockjaw!”
“Nearne!”
The ork spun with a snap of arms and darted to where the voice had emerged, leaving Lux and Nysta standing awkwardly in the open. Glancing at the blind deathpriest, she shook her head as he raised his eyebrow in query.
Didn’t feel the need to speak. She knew he saw more with his other senses than he’d admit.
Following quickly, jagged rumble of Nath’s raiders still pursuing them, she ducked into the shadow-drenched home, eyes working to adjust.
“Get down,” someone whispered. Sharp and direct.
She dropped low, tugging Lux down beside her. He worked his jaw, the bone sliding against paper skin. No doubt irritated by yet another diversion which kept him away from the Madman’s temple. The look on his face almost made her laugh.
Almost.
Instead, as a large group of Nath’s greyclad warriors ran past the shattered front wall, she pulled her mouth into a savage humourless grin and tried to flex her damaged hand. The fingers wouldn’t move. But it wasn’t bleeding anymore.
She guessed beneath the makeshift bandages, her skin may have finally finished knitting.
How long until she could use it again? How long before she could kill with it?
Frustration edged her fear as the last of the raiders dashed past, leaving dust to swirl in the street like frightened ghosts.
When she was satisfied there were no more lagging behind, she turned on her heel to see the ork kneeling with his massive arms around a young teenage girl. Skinny and smeared with dirt and debris. Long dark hair knotted. Pale grey dress torn where sharp edges of the ruined town had plucked and slashed at her clothes.
A few spots of blood.
Huddled against the back wall, a man and another young girl equally dishevelled. The man was looking furtively toward the front, expecting the raiders to burst inside at any moment. The girl, red-haired and with the palest blue eyes Nysta had ever seen, squinted at the ork in distrust.
“I never thought I’d see you again,” Nearne croaked between sobs. “I couldn’t find you. I called, but I couldn’t hear you.”
“I came straight home. You weren’t there.” The ork sounded gruff, but mostly because he was holding his emotions inside. Roping them to his spine. “Where’s your mother? Where’s Dalle?”
The girl looked away, pink tongue sliding across her bottom lip. She couldn’t meet his eyes. “She’s gone. I couldn’t find her, either. I think she ran to Derce’s house. She wanted me to go with her. I … tried. But I couldn’t. Instead, I came here, to Mija.”
The red-haired girl lifted her head. Proudly, the elf thought.
“We’re going to Dragonclaw,” Mija said. “My pa will get us there. He’s got a boat.”
The man, his red hair pasted to his head by sweat, nodded. But there was something in his eyes which suggested he wasn’t going out in the street any time soon. “We need to wait,” he said, voice whispering quickly. “Need to wait. We can’t go yet. They’re everywhere out there. If we move, they’ll kill us. We have to wait. Be silent!”
“Fuck that.” The elf picked up a large splinter of wood and tossed it back down at her feet. “I ain’t dying in here.”
Nearne turned slightly, gasping as she caught sight of the elf. Her young eyes were bloodshot from tears, but almost as violet as the elf’s own. “You’re an elf,” she blurted. Unconsciously reached up and brushed her fingers across her ears. Pulled her hair down to hide them.
An odd gesture.
One the elf had seen before.
“I’m a lot of things,” she said, coldness creeping into her voice.
“This was our home,” Mija said, shooting the elf a spiteful look. “They smashed it, trying to find us. We hid, though, in the cellar. They didn’t know we had a cellar.”
“You hid in the cellar?” Rockjaw frowned. “But you came out? Why?”
“I couldn’t stay in there anymore,” Nearne said, unable to tear her gaze from Nysta. “I couldn’t breathe. I promised to be quiet, but then I saw you.”
Mija’s father looked close to panic. “You can’t stay here, Rockjaw. If they find us, maybe I can talk sense into them. Maybe I can save us. You know I
ain’t got anything against you, or the long-ear here. But if you’re here, they’ll kill us. They’re killing anyone who’s not human. Anyone. They grabbed Dagas out there.”
“It was horrible,” Mija said. She looked away, then back to the elf. Clearly resenting Nysta, or perhaps resenting the way Nearne still hadn’t stopped staring. “He was like you.”
“They hurt him,” Nearne said. “Hurt him really bad. He cried, at the end.”
The elf’s violet eyes burned as the thought which had been boiling on the edge of her mind since she’d drawn the fancy dagger from Maks’ boot finally sighed and allowed itself to emerge from the fathomless depths.
A thought she’d dreaded to consider.
Maks was one of them, that much had been clear. And, since she’d entered the town, she’d seen so many of them. Mingling with the population.
Most people dressed the same wherever she’d been. Furs and wool. Some cotton.
Mostly plain.
A range of brown and cream. If they had money, they’d afford something more colourful.
But Nath’s raiders all wore grey. Maks had worn grey.
“Too many shades of fucking grey,” she growled. Ran the fingers of her right hand through her hair and closed her eyes. “That’s what it is.”
“Grey?” Rockjaw’s brow twisted into a confused frown. Then his red eyes widened. “No. No way. That can’t be right. They can’t have come here.”
Mija looked from the Nysta to the ork, her eyes showing a rare level of cunning. “You know something. What is it? What do you know?”
“Grey Jackets,” the ork groaned. “She thinks they’re Caspiellans.”
“Leiberslanders, if you want to be precise,” she said. Spat wetly on the ground, ignoring Mija’s scowl. “Bastards are Rule’s fanatics and are always crawling in the Deadlands like fleas. This Nath feller’s probably their priest.”
“But why would they come here?”
“They came for the temple,” Lux said softly. His voice dragging through the shadows. “They came to break the accord. Perhaps it is already broken.”
“Dark Lord help us,” Mija’s father moaned. “They’re going to kill us all.”
“Quiet, Torlik,” Rockjaw said, not harshly. “I won’t let them hurt you. Trust me. I won’t.”
The elf lifted herself to her feet. Looked out into the street. The sun had set completely, abandoning the violence. It’d had its fill for the day.
She should’ve seen her own fill of death, too. But the thought of so many Grey Jackets sifting through the town made the hate bubble fresh in her guts.
The broken homes.
The bodies in the street. Bodies killed not by draug, but by Nath’s grey raiders. His Grey Jackets. She’d seen this kind of thing before. So many times. Towns hit in the Deadlands. Homesteads flattened and burned. Bodies tortured and strung up.
A display of gruesome violence meant to incite fear in the hearts of the elfs of Lostlight.
Suddenly, she wanted to kill. The dark worms squirreling through her body paused as this new emotion sent a wave of adrenaline singing through her veins.
“I should’ve known.” She held back from kicking the debris. From lashing out in sheer frustration. Her words, cold and dark, crawled through the wreckage of the home and found crevices to chill. “That knife. That fucking knife. He had it in his boot. A face, just like the Grey Jackets have on their banners. Only the fucking rays were different, and I didn’t figure them for that. It’s a new sign, of course. For a new kind of Grey Jacket. An earless face. They can’t escape that, can they? They still hate us. I figured it for a trophy. A trinket he hoped to sell. But it ain’t, is it? It’s what he is. What they all are. Well. I ain’t having it. Not anymore. I stood on the Wall not too long ago, and I chose a side. And now I’m here, I ain’t about to let their disease spread.”
Nearne shuffled back, moving away from the elf’s fury to where Mija reached out and took the other girl’s arm. Rockjaw stared openly at her, both curious and awed by the elf’s uncharacteristic speech.
She’d hardly said anything since arriving on the Crossbones. Had felt carried along. A cork on the sea. Dumped onto the shore and with her senses rattled.
But now her hatred unfurled, reaching through her body like the yellow fog reached through the town.
Enveloping her fear. Her pain.
Providing the release which comes when a single purpose is accepted.
“You can’t go out there,” Nearne said. “Please. Don’t go out there.”
The elf turned, a cruel smile toying at her mouth as she drew A Flaw in the Glass. “Ain’t a world I made, but it’s one I plan on surviving. A world where, for them, everyone is Tainted or not. No middle ground. It’s all good and evil with nothing inbetween. Well, I reckon if that’s what they want, then that’s what I’ll give them. All of them.”
Lux gave a smile of his own, his white teeth gleaming in the dark. The green light ribboning up from the cloak wrapped tightly around his body. “At last,” he said softly. “She wakes.”
Nearne, held tight by Mija, reached for the elf. “They’ll kill you!”
Confused by the girls’s sudden display, Nysta turned.
Moved toward the shattered doorway leading to the street. A street which shivered in the moonlight as it anticipated a coming storm. Paused only to address the frightened girl one more time, voice husky with adrenaline. “Welcome to the new world, girl. As another feller once said to me, pick a side. Black or white.” She lifted the hungry blade which flared venomously. “Ain’t no room for Greys.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Nysta ran.
With each step, blood punched through her veins. Harder and harder as she searched. Searched for the first kill. The kill which would serve to ignite the fire inside. Hunger thrummed through her veins. It practically leeched all thoughts from her mind as she concentrated solely on finding something, anything, to kill.
Behind her, Lux flew across the ground, his staff low, sweeping through debris as he sought his way. Head cocked with his ear on the bell still wrapped around her wrist. The blind deathpriest’s cloak billowed out behind him, like tattered black wings slave to the wind.
The front had fallen open to reveal the top of his chest. Green energy bubbled inside his ribs, perhaps the eldritch burning of his soul. His face was creased into a grin as cruel as her own, reflecting his own thrilling need to destroy.
Rockjaw was a few more seconds behind them, ferrying the two girls and their frightened father. His gleaming red eyes drilled into the elf’s back, but he said nothing as he lost the role of guide to the elf who led the way up the hill with only hatred in her heart.
Tucked against her chest, her useless arm throbbed. The worms were swelling her forearm, pressing hard against the strapped bracer as they competed to repair the bones and severed tendons of her hand.
But she didn’t care.
Couldn’t care.
She hit the first two Grey Jackets she could find. Hit with a blur of steel and the hiss of an adder. Tore through them with a flurry of cuts which left their bodies sprawled on the ground. Blood in wide arterial arcs across the street. Across the walls.
Across her face.
Wheeling around, air burning between her teeth, she searched for more.
Found none.
Eyes gleaming and teeth bared, she could feel their blood running down her cheeks. Sliding down her neck.
And it was glorious.
Nearne pulled free of Mija and stumbled to a halt in front of the two corpses. Flashed a look which lacked the revulsion Mija was trying to repress. Then her eyes once more speared the elf with an expression Nysta couldn’t define.
“Slow down,” the girl said, lifting her head. Defying herself to be afraid of the heaving elf. “If we keep running like this, you’ll be too tired to fight.”
Rockjaw panted, hands on his knees and bent over. Nodded raggedly, though his red eyes showed something of his conce
rn. “She’s right. You elfs might have more stamina than I do, but even you’ll fall over if you keep it up like this.” He sucked a few more quick breaths. “I get that you’re pissed. And you’re taking it real fucking personal. But it’s easier to kill with a cool head than a hot one.”
Lux smirked. “Is that the advice of a soldier?”
“Fuck you.”
The elf worked her jaw, tasting the retort as it swirled in her mouth. Her violet eyes clung to Nearne’s, sparking with the heat of the kill. Frenzied, her blood riddled through her veins in staccato waves. “I’m tired,” she said evenly through her teeth. Eyes blazing with every word she uttered. Unsure what was making her speak, but she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t hold back. Not anymore. “Tired of walking round with wool in my ears. Tired of feeling I’m caught between two rivers. Rivers dragging me in two different directions and I ain’t sure which way I want to go because there ain’t no way I chose to travel either of them in the first fucking place. I’m tired, girl. So fucking tired and you wouldn’t understand. I’m tired for so many reasons. But mostly because I don’t know who I am. What I am. I don’t know anything about me anymore. Sometimes it seems everyone else knows more than I do. Even this fucking deathpriest here – even he knows me more than I do and I only met him yesterday. And that scares the piss out of me. Squeezes every last piece of courage I ever had. So, right now, all I know is I’ve got to keep moving. Faster, if I can. Keep moving. Keep killing. Because if I stop, even for a second, I’m gonna fall to my knees. And I ain’t sure I’ll want to get back up again.”
“I understand,” Nearne said. And something in the girl’s eyes told the elf she did. Impossible though she thought it could be, the girl told the truth. “Completely. But you’re only running from yourself.”
Quiet descended with the elegance of a slow exhale.
Standing hunched over A Flaw in the Glass, chest heaving with emotion, the elf grit her teeth and struggled to find something to say.
Something which would change that look in Nearne’s eyes from understanding to confusion. Because she couldn’t deal with understanding. How could this girl, young as she was, even begin to understand what she was feeling?
