by Lucas Thorn
“Grey Jackets,” she put in. “They ain’t local. They’re Grey Jackets. Call them assholes, if that’s a mouthful for you.”
“Fine. But they’re there. I don’t want that many jumping on my back. Not all at once.”
“I’ll take them.”
“I was going to say, I can do it. But I need-”
“I’ll take them,” she said, more firmly. “You keep an eye out for anyone else. And if the rest are still up here, you can bring your big green shoulders in there and take your fair fucking share. You, too, deathpriest. You’ve been doing fuck all since we met.”
“Trust your skills. The others are too far away to hear their screams anyway.” Lux aimed the side of his head at her. Grinned in the dark. “But even if there were fifty of them here, Nysta, you’d kill them all. You and the ork. My fight is not here. My fight is down there.”
“At the temple?”
“At the temple.”
“Fuck.” She wiped her forehead with the back of one bandaged hand. “You’re worse than Chukshene. Probably more useless, too, if that’s fucking possible.”
“We’ll see.” His tone was light, but there was impatience there, too.
She nodded to the ork. “Just watch my back.”
“You’re sure you can do this?”
Ignoring the doubt in his tone, she turned away. Began padding toward the two sentries lounging against a pair of trees in the distance. One had his back to her.
She wished she could free her hands of the wrappings.
Wished her fingers would move. But they were still numb inside the bloodsoaked rags.
Another time, she’d have thrown daggers from the dark and killed both men in less than a second. But not this time. This time, she’d need to be close.
So close she could breathe down their necks.
Then slit them.
The closest of Nath’s men wasn’t quite facing her. His head was turned up toward the moon. He was watching clouds curl around the glowing orb. Seemed fascinated with them.
One hand was tucked into his belt. The other was holding an apple, which he slowly lifted to his mouth.
Didn’t quite bite. “Hey, Cook?”
“Yeah, Steev?”
“What’d Nath say the password was, again?”
“Ah, I dunno. I thought you knew it.” Pause. “You really forgotten it?”
“I prefer asking for passwords, I guess. Not remembering them. I’m shit at that part. That’s why I usually take gate duty. It’s the only place we’re allowed to write them down to remember them.” He chuckled. “Have to admit, I like asking Smiffy passwords. He always screams at me that I know who he is. Gets real pissed off about it. But I make him give them, though. Over and over until he can’t fucking breathe. Hilarious.”
The elf slid closer, whipping between the trees. Soft-soled boots treading with a lightness only the Jukkala could teach.
“Shit. Then what’re we gonna do if Maks heads up this way? He’s a bastard for those password things. I heard that’s why he killed Nanker.”
“I thought that were an accident.”
“An accident? He fucking chopped his arm off. Then nailed him to a tree. Ain’t nothing accidental about that.”
“I guess not.”
“He went out to meet his girl. Maks found them. Asked for the password. Nanker couldn’t remember. That’s why he killed him. Then strung her up, too, because she didn’t know it neither. Real mean bastard.”
“Shit.” Steev opened his mouth, threatening to take a bite of his apple. Still didn’t. “Didn’t Nanker just marry her?”
“A week before.”
While they talked, the elf managed to circle them both. Was now closer to Cook than Steev. And as he finished his sentence, she snaked an arm around the tree to ram A Flaw in the Glass up under his chin. The wickedly curved blade slid hungrily into flesh. Split bone. Tore brain to shreds.
His mouth let loose a small wet choke, but not enough to draw attention.
He slid to the ground, upper body shivering with vacant life.
It had been the only way. Pin his jaw to his head because she couldn’t exactly cover his mouth with her other hand. Feeling the blood rush down her arm, she counted herself lucky.
Releasing him, she moved quickly toward Steev. Hoped to pounce before he turned.
The taller man was still conversing with the ghost of his partner. “I tell you, if the bastard tried that with my wife, I’d kill him. I really would. Shit. Maybe I’ll kill him, anyway. I liked Nanker. He weren’t too bad. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do if that one-eyed prick comes here asking for passwords and shit. I’ll kill him.”
Urged onward by his moment of bravado, Steev finally bit into the apple with a wet crunch.
Made wetter by the sudden flash of darkness which announced Queen of Hearts ramming through the apple’s core and driving deep into the sentry’s mouth to nail his skull to the tree. She’d had to use her forearm to push more weight onto the back of the blade. Transferring her momentum into the thrust. It was awkward. Difficult.
Hurt her hands.
But hurt him a whole lot more as the blade’s enchanted black tentacles ripped into his head, searching for something only they could absorb. Turned his brain to mush as they squirmed frantically through his brain.
She stared into the fading light of his eyes as he died.
“Sorry, feller,” she said. “But we can’t both have Maks so I had a pressing need to hack your apple. In exchange, I’ll make sure he won’t hang yours or anyone else’s wife high.”
Rockjaw slid into the clearing, the big ork moving almost silently. Stared at her pressed up against the dead sentry. “What the fuck are you doing?”
She pulled the gruesome knife free. Let the body slump and turned to face the ork, gore dribbling from her blades. Shrugged. “Networking.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
They made the top of the ridge and even the elf paused to drink the view. Breath caught in her throat. Eyes widening.
Far below, the rocky cove worked hard to keep its secrets. But the gibbous moon draped it in diamond light which cut into the shadows and gloom with gleaming precision.
Along the back of the cove, two large conical peaks with blackened summits battled with arrogant disregard of each other for dominance. The fangs of a snake, inverted to the sky. Against the white-laced waters, a pale strip of beach endured the creeping cold. Crumbling rock lay like discarded rubble both around the edge and within its waters.
On a sentimental day, this view alone would’ve been enough to hold her breath.
But, with the night wearing hard toward dawn and the constant throbbing pain studding her arms, it took more than a fair view.
It took the temple.
A structure so vast it was almost incomprehensible. Its swollen grey belly lay in shallow water, crusted with barnacles. A thick tonguelike ramp tasted the heart of the cove, stained with seagrass and slime.
The Madman’s temple stretched from the water’s foaming edge to the base of the mountains, bloating out to consume every inch of the inlet. Primordial in essence, it defied geometry with a cacophony of turrets and spires thrusting from the gigantic structure in haphazard and seemingly random angles.
Bridges of salt-crusted wood and stone spanned the spaces between the turrets to form a lattice of pathways intersecting like spiderwebs draping the structure. Some of the bridges tilted at angles which would make them treacherous.
Arches and pillars of monstrous size and warped form twisted like spines close to breaking. Hallways reared with screaming mouths and promised only darkness inside forlorn throats. The wind cooed through the structure to heighten the feeling of insane cries emanating from within.
Pipes hunted the ledges at cryptic angles and curved like slime-clogged veins and arteries before drilling deep into the stone. What mysterious fluid they carried, she didn’t want to know.
Spherical structures blistered against the walls like
cancerous growths caught in the act of flowering. Dusted in moonlight, they looked ready to burst.
Parapets hooded and suspicious, openings glaring with ominous intent. The hollow rooms were unlit and seemed to suck the light inside. Whatever lay within, there was no doubt it was infested with horrors beyond understanding.
Hints of spinal carvings winding around the corbels. Carvings which promised a view of tortured souls clawing at the stone. The effect reminded her of another wall she’d seen, in the Deadlands. One which had been built from corpses knitted together in a perverted mockery of architecture.
It was ghostly. Demonic. Dark and parasitic. In oozed latent evil and there was in its calm the feeling that at any moment the temple would tear itself from the ground and claw toward them with a thunderous grinding of stone against stone.
Shuddering, the elf tore her gaze away and found the others equally affected by the cacophony of madness the architecture seemed to worship.
Even Lux, visually blind to the view, looked utterly absorbed by it.
“Yeah,” Rockjaw said slowly. “I’ve only been here once before. Got about as close as this. Figured that was enough. Trail here will take us down. Maybe an hour or two. Might make it before the sun comes up if we’re lucky. But is it really that important? No matter what Nath reckons, you can see he ain’t got a chance of burning it down. Can’t torch stone. And unless he plans on sitting around and chiselling it for the next few centuries, he ain’t bringing it down around his ears neither. This is a waste of time, deathpriest. Even if he had a thousand men beating at the walls, the best he could hope to break here’d be his fists. Maybe his head if we’re lucky.”
“The structure itself is not important,” Lux said. “We must ensure the safety of its builder.”
The ork snorted. “Ihan? They’ll never find him in that. Look at it. It’s a warren from the bowels of the Shadowed Halls. I still say the best thing we can do right now is get back to the docks. Get a ship. And then the fuck out of here.” He held an arm out to the two girls. “We can’t take them down there anyway. If you could see their faces, you’d understand. They’re fucking terrified.”
“Your cowardice is noted,” Lux said, a sneer pulling the edges of his desiccated mouth. A flake of dry skin finally scraped free to float away into the wind.
“It’s not cowardice,” the ork snarled. “You’re blind, so you can’t see what you’re trying to take two kids into. It’s not just some piece of shit temple built out of wood with a sign nailed on the front. It’s a fucking monstrosity! For a thousand years, men have carved the stone to this place. Stone which is cursed to fuck by the blood sacrificed to keep its mad god sated.”
“A thousand years, you say? Oh, they’ve carved much longer than that,” the deathpriest said. Waved a dismissive hand and pointed his staff toward the ominous temple which waited with eldritch patience. “They’ve hammered and chiselled here since the Night Age ended. Men. Trolls. Orks. Even a goblin or two. When fire rained from the skies and the ice began to melt, a lone figure was first to hammer at the stone. He began to build what you see before you. A temple, not designed by a god. Not even by a man. But from the fabric of a monster’s twisted nightmares. Nightmares which spilt from its unconscious depths and into the skulls of the tortured souls doomed to spend their lives whittling away at rock. And no, Rockjaw, I can’t see what waits before us. But I feel it in ways you wouldn’t believe. I also feel the hearts of those who come to defend it. And we are not alone. For this reason, now that you’ve led us this far, I no longer need you. You waste my time. Sit up here. Hide in the trees. Wait for daylight to bring its false promise of safety. Huddle close to your children and pretend they are more frightened than you. Wish it hard enough, and you may convince yourself it’s true.”
The ork flexed his shoulders, heavy fists like sledgehammers at the ends of his arms. Red eyes boiling, he glared at the deathpriest. Endured every word. “When I was in the army, I respected your kind,” he said slowly. “Believed the Dark Lord would prevail and Rule would be the one to fall. I never thought of doubting you. Resisting you. Killing you. But I ain’t in the army anymore.”
“Your threat is ridiculous,” Lux said. Aimed his ear toward the elf and shuffled down the trail toward the temple. “Come, Nysta. It’s almost time to pay your debt.”
“What debt?” Rockjaw asked. And, when she ignored him to follow the blind deathpriest, called again. Louder. “I said, what debt?”
“Ain’t your business,” she shot back, unsure of her feelings. She’d worked hard to get the ork out of his cell. Had suffered more pain to fight her way free with him.
And now?
Now he looked to be staying behind when there were still men to kill. Sure, they might have been elfs once. But that was before they chose to cut their ears. Whatever they were before, she told herself they were nothing to her now but Grey Jackets.
Caspiellans by choice.
Her fingers twirled around the strips of cloth knotted into her hair. Even if they were all elfs by blood, she’d killed more than one of her own kind in the past. Had even enjoyed killing some.
Still, their betrayal stank. Reeked of something unnatural and abhorrent. But she knew the betrayal was theirs. Not hers.
They deserved the deaths she would deliver them.
At least, that’s what she told herself.
Nearne pressed against Mija, whose arms looped around Nearne’s waist. The two stared intently at the elf. Two cats lost in predatory calculation. Mija’s eyes fetching emotions from somewhere darker than Nearne’s.
Somewhere primal.
Slowly, she pulled herself free. Looked up into the other girl’s violet eyes.
Smiled. A short smile which drifted away on stubborn wings.
Then turned to follow Lux without looking back.
“They killed my father,” she said to Nysta as she rushed to catch up. Back rigid. Face hardening with the pride of a woman weaned on the ways of violence. “I’ve never killed a man before. But if you’ll see your way to loaning me a knife, I’ll do my best to learn.”
Slowing her pace, the elf jutted out her hip, showing The Ugly sheathed along her lower back. The handle beckoned to the girl’s hand. “I’ll want it back,” she said. “I earned it.”
“I’m not a thief.”
“It’s called The Ugly,” she said, finding a node of respect somewhere inside. “On account of it not being made for pretty deeds. Maybe also for the feller who lost it to me. Now, I ain’t one to give advice. Figure everyone’s got the right to fight how they like. But you ain’t ever hurt anyone. You said so. You’re gonna find it hard, especially at first. And you ain’t got the senses you need to fight some of these fellers. So, keep to the back. Don’t try to fight them to their face. They’re bigger than you and there ain’t no shame in being smarter. Run. Hide. Don’t try stabbing their backs. You don’t know what you’re aiming for, so you’re more likely to glance off a rib and that’ll just piss them off. You also ain’t ever had to stab anything like them, so you’ll probably not get it deep enough. Aim lower. Their kidneys. Softer meat there. Guts if you can get it. But if you don’t kill them straight out, hit and run. Thigh’s best for that, especially from behind. One good hit to the thigh here, and they’ll bleed out real quick. They won’t chase you far. Don’t fuck around with them. It ain’t cowardly to play to your strengths, and you ain’t got many of those yet.”
Nodding, Mija absorbed the elf’s words in the spirit they were intended. Tightened her grip on the handle. “Thank you.”
Nearne stood alone, shocked by Mija’s determination. A frown tugged between her eyes.
She looked down at her feet. Nodded to herself as a decision was made.
“I need to see Dalle, Rockjaw. For years, I’ve had to pretend to be her daughter. I have to make her understand what that was like.” Looked thoughtful for a moment. Touched thin fingers to her mutilated ears. “I’m not sure how, yet. But I will. She’ll understand
.”
“Nearne…”
“I’m sorry for everything. For not being honest to you. I don’t know if I had a choice, but if I could go back, I’d try to be honest with you. For now, I have to go. I understand why you can’t. Good luck to you, Rockjaw.” She sprinted after Mija, and grabbed the other girl’s hand. The two smiled at each, no words needing to be shared.
Rockjaw watched their descent, the big ork struggling with emotion and memory.
“I left war behind,” he murmured, tearing red eyes away from them to look back at the town still seething with sluggish violence. To where a few boats were left intact. One or two of which he could sail on his own. “No more wars. They’re not mine to fight. Not anymore. I saw him fall. Saw Rule beat his chest in with that dreaded hammer of his. Broke the ground beneath and sent Grim’s corpse into the bowels of the earth. The Lord of Light looked at me. Right in the eyes. Looked at me and smiled. Dark Lord’s blood all over his face. And he smiled. That was enough. Enough. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.”
But no one was listening to him. No one heard his words.
With each step they took down the steep winding path, the elf felt a vague push at her senses. The air warmed, growing thick. But not the kind of thickness which comes from humidity. From something else.
Something which left the hairs on the back of her neck standing alert and the worms flicking nervously through her flesh.
The two girls felt it, too. They clung tightly to each other.
Still whispering. Swapping confidence. Exchanging hopes.
Wiping her cheek with the back of her damaged and bound hand, the elf felt a twinge of pain sparkle up her wrist. Grunted. It wasn’t as painful as before but it still hurt and her fingers refused to move, even a little, no matter how much she tried.
How long would she need to keep her weapons tied into her fists?
“Shit,” she muttered, the word barely brushing the wind as frustration twisted her lips into a grimace.
