by Lucas Thorn
He shook his heavy head. “I ain’t going anywhere, long-ear. Not this time. I’m done. Done with it all.”
Nearne flung a frightened look at Nysta.
But the elf was already moving. She pushed into the room with a livid strut. Right up to the kneeling ork. Eyed him critically for a brief moment. Then lifted her leg and slammed her boot against his shoulder to send him sprawling on his back. “I said get up, you piece of cowardly shit!”
“You don’t understand!” He crawled around on his side, clenching his teeth as though suppressing every emotion he had. His biceps bunched.
“What? I don’t understand that a Grey Jacket spy pulled your little fucking heartstrings until they snapped? That she betrayed you? And now, like a fucking wounded dog, you’re gonna sit in here and shit on your pride? That you’re gonna let them drag you off and slap you in fucking slave irons?” She sneered at him, blasting him with the heat and venom of her words. “Is that what I don’t understand? That you ain’t got the fucking guts to pick yourself up and actually confront the bitch who just ripped your fucking soul? I miss anything, you big useless fuck?”
“I’m not a coward,” he said. Gravel in his throat. “I fought wars you weren’t even born to see. Battles you ain’t ever heard of.”
“Really?” Voice tight to hold back the pain drumming up her arms. Her hands were swelling, pushing at the tight bonds holding them around the knives. Fresh blood dripped. “Well, I ain’t impressed. That was then. This is now.”
“And now I’m tired!” Red eyes smouldered. “Sick and fucking tired of all of you. I served the emperor, long-ear. And I served my god. Was there when the Dark Lord fell. Forty years it’s been since then. Forty. I saw it, and you can’t ever understand what that was like. What it did to me. I ran. Ran as far as Icereach. Then to the Deadlands when that weren’t far enough. But everywhere I go, I can’t escape. Death and violence. It’s like Grim cursed me with a trail of fucking blood and guts everywhere I fucking go. I’m tired of it. I can’t think. I can’t trust anyone. Not anymore. And what’s the fucking use of fighting Rule anyway? He’ll always win. Grim ain’t here to fight him now. And look at us. We’re weak. A little group of Caspiellans just walked into the Crossbones, Nysta. Just walked in. And took it. Some of the hardest fucking raiders you got just died out there. We’re done. I’m done. Leave me be.”
“Rockjaw?” Nearne pulled free of Mija and dropped down in front of him. Grabbed hold of his head and aimed it at her own. Looked deep into his eyes. Tears still boiling from her own. “Please don’t do this, Rockjaw. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t want to. I’m sorry. Please don’t give up because of me.”
A sliver of hate entered his gaze, but it passed quickly and he reached out with a gruff choke and took the girl in his arms. A girl he’d come to see as something close to a daughter. “It ain’t your fault, Nearne. I don’t blame you.”
“Then come with us. Don’t stay here. You can’t stay here.” She buried her head in his massive arms. “Dalle’ll hurt you. She really hates you. You can’t let her do that.”
“I’ll be okay,” he said. Closed his eyes. “You go with Nysta. She’ll see you’re safe.”
The elf rolled saliva in her mouth and spat it at the wall. “Bullshit,” she said. “They ain’t mine to look after. The kid and me, we got a deal. I get her to Dragonclaw, then she’s on her own. This other one? I don’t give a fuck for her. She weren’t part of the deal. She can die on the way out for all I care.” The elf turned away lazily. Waved at Nearne. “Come on, then. Leave him alone. Asshole wants to die, so let him die. I’ll get you to Dragonclaw. Heard a lot about it. From what I hear, they’re nice people. Real friendly and giving. Sure you’ll find some nice fellers to look after you.”
Rockjaw snarled. “Fuck you, Nysta. You wouldn’t just leave kids alone in a place like that. You’re a-”
“Woman? Yeah. You noticed. But that doesn’t mean I’ll drop everything I am just because a few kids showed a couple of tears. Dragonclaw can’t be that bad. I grew up on streets a lot fucking worse, and I survived. They can, too. Besides, you see these hands of mine? They ain’t made for cuddles, greenskin. They’re made for killing.”
“People change. You don’t always have to kill.”
“Change? Like you did? Difference between me and you is I ain’t a coward. I don’t back down from my enemies. I find them. And I slit them open and spit in their fucking guts. That’s what I do. I don’t change just because I feel sad.” She rolled her aching shoulders. The pain was a poison in her blood. She needed to get out of here. Had to move. Itching in her belly told her it was definitely time to leave. “You want these kids safe? Then you get the fuck off the floor and act like the kind of feller you used to be. Cowardice has its place, Rockjaw. This ain’t it.”
“Fuck you.”
“Look on the bright side.” She jerked her head toward the ceiling. “Grey Jackets are up there. Dozens of them. Nath’s leftovers. Could be we’ll have to kill our way out. Plenty of chances for you to die out there like the dog you are.”
“Shut up.”
“Your choice.”
He looked to Nearne. “I need an axe.”
“We need to get to Lux,” Nysta said as the young girl skipped through the door to grab the guard’s weapons. “That bastard deathpriest knows more than he’s telling. Also, his spellslinging will be useful. Could be the difference between dying in here, or out in the street.”
The ork shook his head. “You’ve got a bleak way of looking at things, Nysta.”
“At least I ain’t ever disappointed.”
He rubbed at his shoulder. “Bet you meant to kick me here, too. Remind me of another time I backed down when I shouldn’t have?” He took her silence for agreement and grunted. “You’re a real pain in the ass. You know that?”
“I ain’t got time to piss about,” the elf said. Lifted her hands. “And I reckon you can see I ain’t got a gentle touch when it comes to getting you on your feet.”
“Thanks.” He hadn’t wanted to say it, but he did. “I’ve been losing pieces of myself for so long. Kind of forgot some things you shouldn’t lose. Some things you gotta hold onto.”
Nearne brought him an axe and a knife. They looked far too small for him.
“Just carry your own weight, feller. You’ve got your own burdens, I’m sure. But I don’t need any more.” She turned away, limping back outside as she drawled; “Already got my hands full.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
In the end, Rockjaw went first.
With each step, the big ork transformed from something broken and reluctant into something more attuned to violence. The axe, small even for most raiders, looked tiny and impractical in his massive fist. But there was no doubt he could use it.
It was a transformation the elf found interesting as she remembered the time she’d put a dagger in his arm. How he’d whined helplessly at her. But now those huge arms looked moulded to his axe like it was a part of him he’d lost and found again.
A part he couldn’t truly ever let go.
The two girls were behind her, having to skip to catch up. Both terrified, they whispered to each other in the manner of children who knew there was danger but lacked the experience to understand how deadly it would be.
Still, Nearne was smart enough to keep to the shadows and guide Mija along with her. What the two lacked in stealth, they made up for in the knowledge to keep far enough back to allow Rockjaw and herself to handle anything which might spring from the dark.
For herself, she tried not to think of her hands. Hands which burned as if on fire, flames licking her forearms as the dark worms ribboned through flesh, desperate to repair damage. A seemingly futile struggle.
She’d already begun to feel the gentle waves of nausea and dizziness creep like the first nudging breaths of the morning tide. Waves caused by the blood still dripping from her body. How much blood had spilled from her broken hands, she couldn’t say.
<
br /> But it was enough. More than enough.
If it didn’t stop soon, she felt she’d end up slumped against a wall somewhere waiting for Nath’s raiders to finish her off.
The agony she’d felt when stabbing the guard had been almost unbearable. Her muscles already twitched at thought of doing it again. She’d have to, though, if she wanted to make it out alive.
Have to kill.
Again and again.
Each time blasting ravaged nerves with pain.
How long could she take it? The Jukkala’Jadean had trained her with ruthless dedication. They’d pushed her body beyond endurance. Forced her to live day after day with pain as a constant companion. When she thought she could run no more, they made her sprint. When she thought she couldn’t carry any more, they piled her arms with stones and kicked her forward.
When she couldn’t take it. When she was kneeling in the mud screaming, they mocked.
Mocked her weakness.
Padding down the hall in the ork’s massive wake, the elf heard those words again, fresh in her ears. Words which made her jaw tighten and her eyes flash with the brittle wings of hate on which her gaze flew from nook to cranny in search of Nath’s raiders.
His Grey Jackets.
His Leiberslanders.
His mutilated elfs.
Enemies. All of them.
At the top of the stairs, Rockjaw didn’t hesitate. He stormed from the doorway, silent and sure-footed into the night air. Light from nearby fires bounced off his green flesh like red sparks heralding blood.
First two raiders to notice him were lounging against the wall. Saw him and let out twin yelps as they scrambled to get to their feet while their fingers sought the comfort of leather-wrapped iron. A comfort they had no chance to feel as he slammed into them like a mountain bristling with steel.
The power with which he hit was dreadful.
He rolled over the first, leaving the raider’s arm flopping on the ground like a dying fish. A head followed, splashing to the ground. A bucket of gore emptying its gruesome contents as it rolled to a halt against the wall.
The second took Rockjaw’s axe in his gut, but that wasn’t the end of his horror. The ork ripped upward, tearing through ribs as the axe arced out of the man’s body in a crimson wave. Without expression, the ork kept moving, leaving the elf and the young girls to tread carefully among splayed entrails.
Messy, the elf judged his work. But efficient.
He reached out an arm as he stalked past a rack of weapons, thick fingers wrapping around a long-handled sword. He threw the axe with his other hand, sending it loping through air until its head buried itself in the forehead of a young Grey Jacket raider shouting for help.
As a few more raiders stumbled into the courtyard, the ork went to work. A cold rhythm of steel and blood. A rhythm terrifying in its mechanical movements which sheared through limb and torso alike with equal disregard for the solidity of bone.
Tearing her eyes away from him, she found herself staring into the frightened gaze of a young raider whose jaw was only just showing the first sign of manhood.
So many of them were young. Children of the traitors who’d trickled from Lostlight to cower beneath the fist of Rule. Just thinking about the train of betrayals which led to the youth’s existence made her burn with fury.
Squealing, he turned to run.
With instincts honed and predatory, the elf struck. Launched herself across the courtyard to spring onto his back. Legs clamping, she lifted her arm and brought it down. Anticipated pain and was rewarded with such agony that her own shriek drowned his.
A Flaw in the Glass drilled sank into the nape of his neck. The green glow bubbling inside flesh.
She dropped free with a howl as she slit his throat with Queen of Hearts, feeling the thin black tentacles clutch at his skin. They snapped at skin like rubber leeches as she used her knee to push herself from his falling body.
Landed on her feet and spun, eyes scanning the courtyard.
Searching for someone else on whom to deliver death in exchange for pain.
And found the Shadowed Halls had already closed around the carnage left by the ork. He stood, surrounded by dead, huge chest heaving. Sweat melting through his shirt.
Slowly, wiped his brow with the back of his forearm.
Then turned, avoiding Nearne’s wide gaze and looking instead to the elf crouched in front of him. “Where’s your friend?”
“He ain’t my friend.” She stood, arms loose at her sides. Raised an eyebrow at Nearne. “You said he was upstairs?”
She pointed to the central building, other hand still knotted into Mija’s. “He’s in there. I think they were hurting him. He screamed. But I think he’s still alive.”
“Ain’t so sure of that,” the elf said, voice dry despite the pain sponging her nerves.
“Where’s Dalle?” Rockjaw’s voice was calm. But the stink of vengeance hovered above every word. “Where’s your ma?”
“She went with Nath. With Maks. She wanted to see the temple destroyed.” The young girl didn’t hesitate. Instead lifted her head high. “And she’s not my ma. We’re not even related.”
He finally looked at her, red eyes studying her for a moment.
Then nodded. “I’m glad,” he said. Rolled heavy shoulders as he moved toward the building where Lux was imprisoned. Each step dragging invisible chains from his ankles. “No one should see their ma killed in front of them.”
Three men were trying to barricade themselves inside. They shouted to each other, a stream of frightened gibberish which tore at the silence.
They’d piled heavy chests against the door and were dragging the rest of the furniture as quickly as they could. Something heavy screamed wooden against the ground before grinding to rest against the door which shook with a sullen rattle of its brittle iron lock.
The elf’s eyes narrowed and she looked up, wondering if she could somehow climb into one of the windows above.
But the door’s apparent solidity didn’t slow the ork as he smashed it open with a single charge of his shoulder. The door split on impact, right down the middle. He kicked the heavily-laden chests firmly, sending them skidding back into the room. One tumbled fast, its passage thundering to hear. Hit a Grey Jacket in the leg, breaking bone and cartilage with a sodden crunch.
He dropped screaming.
The other two threw down the heavy cabinet they’d been trying to manoeuvre and snatched swords. Didn’t look confident in the face of the ork’s fury, but at least they tried.
And died.
The first took Rockjaw’s blade straight through his mouth. The heavy steel possessing the force to spear out the back of his head with a fountain of red.
The second attacked with a desperate swing and let out a curse as Rockjaw’s meaty fist wrapped around his wrist to stop the blow from landing. Then screamed as the ork wrenched hard, snapping the bones of his forearm and splintering his elbow.
Nysta slithered past the ork, aiming for the Grey Jacket squirming on the ground grasping his knee. Knelt beside him and grabbed his jaw. Pulled him onto his back and stabbed his chest, slightly right of centre. Queen of Hearts licked lungs greedily, the thin tendrils exploding inside his chest to tear through his beating heart and lap hungrily at blood in the split second it took before she ripped the blade free.
It seemed to hum in her hand with a forlorn song as blood was denied it.
Twisting around, she saw the ork break the second Grey Jacket’s skull with his fist. A single punch was all it took to collapse the young face back into his brain.
The two girls stood in the doorway, Mija clinging tightly to Nearne, her face turned into the former spy’s shoulder. But Nearne watched, forcing herself to witness the horror. Some part of herself trying to wrestle with her future.
To figure out what she would do when she left the Crossbones for the dreamt-of safety of Dragonclaw. And that part recognised a need to understand the consequences of violence.
Her violet eyes met the elf’s for a split second, and Nysta nodded. “It gets easier,” she said. “For some.”
Before Nearne could reply, the elf scampered up the stairs, heading to where she thought Lux would be held. The ork waited below, rummaging through the bodies. Picking any trinkets he thought he’d need. Addressing Nearne’s confused expression by telling her they’d need it in Dragonclaw.
If they survived.
Mija gave a grim nod and moved quickly to follow his lead.
At the top of the stairs, a crumbling hallway led to a single door, and the elf kicked it open with an explosive grunt. Entered, arms held high, ready to combat any violence with the burning embers of hatred still seething through her veins.
Was almost disappointed to find the room empty of everyone except the grim-looking deathpriest.
They’d stripped him of all his clothes, leaving him strapped to a table. He was little more than a skeleton with tattered patches of desiccated muscle and flesh clinging to bone. Skin, dry and leathery, hung in flaps. And his guts, now fully exposed, were writhing snakes of fiery green plasma bubbling and churning as though devouring his body.
A volcanic bed of green lava, but it wasn’t gnawing on him.
Instead, she realised with fascination, it was feeding him.
Keeping him alive.
And, judging by the melted blades and assorted iron probes twisted into knotted scrap, they’d been trying to see if they could remove it from him.
They’d failed.
“When you’ve finished admiring my physique, it would be polite of you to offer me my robes,” he said, voice rasping.
He hadn’t turned to face her, but she nodded anyway. “You look like shit.”
“And it sounds like someone hit you in the mouth a few more times than they needed to,” he shot back. “But not enough to do any permanent damage. Unfortunately. My staff is to your right. But don’t touch it. Their meddling has activated its defences.”
She saw it propped against the wall. Dark black runes darted up and down the shaft, swirling among dozens of arcane symbols, each burning with power.
