Revenge Of The Elf (Book 1)

Revenge Of The Elf (Book 1) Page 6

by Lucas Thorn

  How the wagoners had managed to manoeuvre it through the narrow paths surprised the elf, but she thought no more on the skills of the wagoners as the canvas flap moved sharply.

  “That’s far enough!” a brittle voice called from within, and the elf noticed a small hole in the side. The glint of steel suggested an arrow tip.

  “No, it ain’t,” she called back. “Fire’s all the way over there.”

  “Make your own. You’re in a forest. Plenty of fucking dead wood in this shithole.”

  The spellslinger hovered behind her. “Nysta? How about we just go around? There’s still a little light left.”

  “Ain’t looking for trouble,” the elf called, ignoring the nervous mage. “Just a bit of warmth. And like to know if you’ve seen a bunch of fellers on horseback riding this track?”

  “What you want with them?”

  “It matter?”

  “Not really. But we ain’t in the habit of getting involved in shit. It’s a good way to get dead. Know what I mean?”

  “Nysta?” Chukshene tugged at her sleeve. “I really don’t think-”

  “Just want to use the fire,” the elf insisted. “I’ll pay.”

  A pause. “Pay? With what? You’re too scrawny for much and the spellslinger ain’t our type.”

  Someone else in the wagon tittered.

  “What did he just say?” the mage looked outraged. “Did he just say what I think he sai-”

  “Pay with coin,” she dug into one of her many pouches and pulled out a small handful of silver.

  “That real silver?”

  The elf tossed one toward the wagon, letting it fall short. “Check for yourself.”

  She waited, listening to the voices mutter to themselves before a second called; “You got a lot of blades on you for an honest traveller, Long-ear. How about you leave them right there?”

  “You got a bow. Let’s both keep our weapons. And our fucking distance.”

  The discussion within the wagon grew more intense, but the elf could hear the word silver repeated and she moved resolutely toward the camp fire, reasonably certain the two men inside would accept the deal.

  “Hey!” the second voice cried. “What the fuck you doing?”

  “Sitting by the fire while you fellers argue,” she growled. “Let me know when you’re ready to earn your pay.”

  Chukshene followed carefully, his eyes wide as he stared hard at the hole in the canvas.

  “Keep back! I’m warning you!” An arrowhead poked further out through the hole and the mage gave a yelp, skidding backward. “I’ll put one through your fucking eye!”

  “What the fuck, Oliver?” the first voice sounded disgusted. “Put it away. She ain’t impressed and you can’t hit a barn door with that thing. Long-ear? We’re gonna come out now. Reckon we can take it easy from here in?”

  The elf shrugged, slumping down on a log which had been dragged into position beside the fire. Rubbed her hands together and held them out, feeling the warmth breathe through her fingers.

  Chukshene crouched beside her, still hugging his book like a child’s toy.

  The first man to emerge had a long hawkish nose and piercing blue eyes. His ragged rust-coloured hair was wild and a little too long. He had a short hatchet slung awkwardly at his hip. “Name’s Carter,” he said. “Carter Holl. This is my driver, Oliver Kween. Call him Ollie if you like. I do. Coming up from Firelash. We’re traders, Ollie and I. Part of a merchant group. Got left behind when we busted a wheel. Soon have it fixed, though.”

  “Don’t have to tell them our life story,” Ollie grunted, leaping down behind the shorter man. His face was sharper. Eyes a little too narrow. Fnordic like his companion, his wide cropped beard wiped drily over his chin and cheeks. Heavier in build, he may have been good looking, she thought. If it weren’t for the veiled look of disgust he directed at her. A look she’d seen a few times before in men who figured they had reason to hate elfs. His gaze flashed with malice before sliding sourly away. “You said you had silver.”

  “Never mind him,” Carter sighed. “he’s just pissed we’re falling behind the others. And this is the Deadlands. So, he’s seeing draugs in every shadow.”

  “It’s kept us alive so far!”

  “Certainly keeps my bladder full,” countered the smaller man. Let an apologetic smile twitch across his face. “You’re both welcome to spend the night. Share the fire. Pay what you think is fair. At this stage, it’s a bonus, I reckon.”

  “Carte-”

  “Enough, Ollie! I’ve decided.”

  Oliver looked ready to argue. He held the other man’s eyes for a moment before letting his breath whoosh out of his lungs. “Fuck, Carter,” he growled. “We’re never gonna make up for lost days if you keep giving shit away.”

  “I prefer to do business my way, Ollie. You know that.”

  The elf kept her gaze on the fire, apparently disinterested. After glancing at her, Chukshene chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully before speaking. “Hey,” he called amiably to the wagoner. “Don’t suppose you have any food you can spare, do you? Doesn’t have to be cooked. I’d eat it still kicking if I had to.”

  “It’ll cost you,” Oliver snapped. “I’ll bend the rules, Carter, on the fire. Maybe on letting them sleep close to the wagon. But not on the food. Anything happens out here and we get stranded longer than we think, there’s fuck all to eat but dirt and old bones out here. You know that.”

  Carter nodded reluctantly. “We can spare a little,” he told the mage. “But Ollie’s right. We’ve wasted a day trying to fix the wheel. The silver will ease his mind, I think.”

  “Sure,” Chukshene grinned as Oliver shouldered his bow. Rubbing his hands together happily, he cast a hopeful glance at the elf. “We’ll pay. Well. Nysta will. Lend me a few coins, Long-ear? I’m fucking starved.”

  Ignoring the mage, the elf leaned toward the wagoner. “You’ve seen the fellers I was asking about?”

  The two Fnords looked at each other and something passed unspoken between them before Carter nodded. The elf felt a grin tug at the corner of her mouth as she guessed their decision right enough.

  Oliver threw up his hands in resignation. “Yeah, just give everything away for free. Let’s become monks while we’re fucking at it. And why bother trading in Lostlight? Let’s just give it all away to beggars along the way. Ah, fuck this. I’ll see to the horses. Do what you like.”

  Grumbling darkly to himself, Oliver stomped off behind the wagon and could be heard muttering to the horses as he led them further from the camp. Carter spread his hands apologetically and sat on the second log to the elf’s right.

  She thought he looked birdlike in the flickering light as he lifted a small pack from where it had been resting beside the fire. Dug around inside before tossing a small package to the spellslinger. “Here,” he said. “It ain’t much, but we don’t have a lot left. Hoping to make Highwall in a few days, though. Resupply there.”

  Chukshene tore at the wrapping and gave a small satisfied gasp as he pulled out a chunk of cheese and dried strips of meat. Offered some to the elf who gave a quick shake of her head and kept her violet eyes firmly on the hawk-nosed man. “When did you see them?” she asked.

  “Yesterday. Late evening. Were nine of them.”

  “Nine?” she had expected around that number, but hearing it made her feel slightly overwhelmed. Though she wouldn’t stop chasing them until they were all dead, the thought of going against nine possibly well-trained soldiers was a daunting one. She felt a thin trickle of doubt slide down the back of her neck and wondered if she was doing the right thing.

  Talek always said she was stubborn.

&n
bsp; Told her it would kill her, too. One day.

  “Yeah. They rode by easy enough, though. Ollie kept an arrow on them all the way and to tell the truth, Long-ear, I wouldn’t have stopped him shooting them. They looked mean. Meaner than you.”

  “You don’t know me all that well,” the elf said, her lip twisting crookedly up toward the scar.

  “Still,” the wagoner shrugged. “I’d leave them be if I were you. Don’t poke a snake’s nest. You’ll only get bit.”

  “Good advice,” Chukshene allowed.

  “If you’re set on it, then maybe you should know they didn’t give a shit about Ollie’s bow,” Carter said. “In fact, the biggest one kind of smiled at him as though he was a kid with a toy. Big bastard with an axe. Looked like he wanted to kill us both just for the fuck of it. I think that’s why Ollie was so sore when you came along. He’s still feeling rubbed up the wrong way. He wanted to be a soldier, you know. Long time ago. His old dad was one. When he sees men like that, he gets pissed off he didn’t get what they got. Still. They moved on. Maybe figured he wasn’t so green they could take a chance on losing a few of their number.”

  “Maybe figured his arrows were green, too,” the elf drawled. “Which way they head?”

  “South. Heard one say something about Grimwood Creek. They looked like they were in a hurry. And you really shouldn’t joke about Ollie like that. He’s not as green as you think. He’s worked this trail with me for five years. The Deadlands isn’t a place for those who can’t defend themselves. We’ve been through a lot together.”

  “Grimwood Creek?” Chukshene frowned. “That’s right on the border. So they’re Caspiellans? You didn’t tell me you were hunting Caspiellans.”

  Carter barked a laugh. “Caspiellans? I doubt it. Not unless she’s one. Or Rule’s decided that elf blood isn’t Tainted anymore,” he grinned at the mage’s confused expression. “And there’s fat chance of that, right? No, mage. They were Long-ears. Like her. You ain’t together I take it?”

  “No. Just headed in the same direction.”

  “Wanna be careful, then,” Carter said ominously. “Ought to know who you’re travelling with. Know what kinds of trouble you might find, if you get me?”

  Nysta ignored him and stared hard into the fire, her hands twisted together in a knot.

  She’d figured they’d been elfs by their boots. Didn’t feel too much surprise at the revelation. All the same, it disappointed her that Talek would fall to his own kind. She’d always thought if he had to die violently in the Deadlands, it would be to a renegade band of humans. An ork, maybe. Or pack of goblins. Or some kind of magic-twisted monstrosity created during the Godwars. Anything.

  But not elfs.

  She felt the stab of disappointment in her heart and sighed. “What they look like?”

  “They were elfs,” Carter shrugged dismissively. “No offence, but you all look the same to me. I guess one was bigger than the others, like I said. Two looked identical. Could’ve been brothers? Another had a cut along his throat like someone’d tried opening him up and didn’t do a good job. Not for lack of trying, I’d say. Awful looking thing. Worse scar than yours. Their leader, though. Come to think of it. He had red hair. That looked pretty strange. Don’t see many elfs with red hair. Others looked just like I said. Normal bunch of Long-ears.”

  The elf frowned. There were plenty of elfs in the Deadlands. Lostlight was decaying under the constant threat of attack from the southern kingdoms. The city slowly eating itself with fanged mouths of fear and mistrust as the guilds struggled to retain their sliding grip on power. With Grim no longer holding the combined peoples of the north together, old feuds had reignited.

  Even King Jutta seemed unable to distance himself from the growing rifts.

  Some of the smaller guilds had even quit the city. Headed north to beyond the Great Wall. Fewer still had been reluctant to leave the city and so came to the Deadlands to hide from their more powerful new enemies. Hoping to rebuild their flagging strength and return triumphant one day.

  Something else, though, tugged at her thoughts and she looked up at the wagoner as suspicion gnawed behind her eyes. “Red hair? You sure? How red? Red like rust, or red like blood?”

  The wagoner ran his hand over his stubbled cheek. “Blood, I guess. He stood out like an ork in a Ruleist church. I didn’t like him. His eyes were too pale, you know? Like they were dead. They wore grey tabards, too, if that helps any.”

  Her eyes thinned to slits. “Grey? Any insignia on them?”

  “None I could see. But seemed to me they were covering something up. I don’t know. Just the impression I got.”

  “But there were nine of them? You’re sure about that?”

  “I’m sure. I counted twice because I didn’t think Ollie’d have enough arrows,” he looked over his shoulder before whispering. “Or that he’d shoot fast enough to cut them down before they got to us.”

  “Got anything to drink?” Chukshene cut in. He tossed the wrapping onto the fire where it flared intensely for a moment before curling into a tight wadded ball of black.

  “Stream over there,” Carter jerked his thumb over his shoulder to where Ollie had taken the horses.

  “Oh,” the spellslinger peered into the gloom at the trees. Their twisted trunks creaked at him and the sun, groping blindly at the edge of the world, shone its pale light through their scattered branches. The effect made him think a thousand eyes were watching him.

  Waiting for him.

  The spellslinger sucked on his teeth. Scratched his chin nervously and wrapped both arms around his book. “Well. I guess I’ll be fine. It can wait ‘til morning.”

  “The others say his name?” Nysta asked quietly.

  “Huh?”

  “The red-haired elf. They give him a name?”

  The wagoner shook his head. “Not that I recall, no. He didn’t speak much. Just told the others to keep moving. They did like he said. Seemed to be in charge. Sorry, Long-ear. I can’t help you much. They were just a bunch of mean bastards who rode past. Were there for less than a few minutes and didn’t come back.”

  Her mind raced over this information and an image of a face rose out of the murkiness of her memory. “Raste,” she muttered.

  “Sorry?”

  “Raste. If it’s him, and of course it fucking would be, then the nine are the Bloody Nine. Fuck.”

  “Bloody Nine?” Carter frowned.

  “They don’t sound friendly,” Chukshene said drily.

  “They ain’t.”

  A shivering wind sucked at her cheeks and she suddenly felt so tired. The tension pulling at her face and shoulders as she struggled to push her ballooning sorrow and rage down into the dark pit of her heart was getting too much to bear.

  She wanted to get up and run screaming through the trees.

  Wanted to shout at the sky.

  Spit curses to all the gods.

  To close her eyes and weep herself to sleep.

  Raste.

  It would be him. She had no doubt of it.

  “Nysta?” the spellslinger was looking at her oddly. “You okay?”

  “Fine, Chukshene,” she growled. “Just life has a funny way of reaching round and biting you on the ass sometimes.”

  Struggling to hold everything inside, the elf turned her face away and tore the image in her mind apart. Raste’s face shattered. There was nothing she could do right now, she told herself.

  But when she had him in her fists…

  She felt her lips tug into a cruel smirk.

  He was gonna bleed.

  And bleed.

  A second wave of exhaustion nudged her shoulders, carried on the sullen warmth from the fire. She’d walked a great distance today, even burdened by the ma
ge. Her gaze flicked over to him as she suddenly realised he’d kept her pace all day despite his moaning.

  He looked like shit. His eyes were drooping now that food filled his belly, and already he was swaying gently as though about ready to capsize.

  Pursing her lips, she dug into one of the many pouches lining her jacket and pulled out a few more coins. Tossed them at the wagoner. “For the fire. And food.”

  “You didn’t have any,” Carter observed.

  “Ain’t hungry,” she said. And even though it was a lie, the rising bitterness tugging at her mind made everything feel tense. So tense she didn’t think she could face eating right now.

  He scooped the coins and dropped them into a purse at his waist. He hesitated for a moment. “Generous of you to pay for the spellslinger. Especially as you’re both strangers. Don’t see that kind of generosity in the Deadlands much.”

  The elf grunted in reply.

  “Well,” the wagoner stood and looked around, dusting himself off. “I better find Ollie. Then I reckon we’ll get some sleep. Like an early start. The rest of our team is up ahead and they won’t wait for us. Our leader, Kalel, is always trying to prove something. He’s a competitive prick. We’d like to prove him wrong and catch him before he makes the Stonefist.”

  “Bit harsh though, isn’t it?” Chukshene asked over a yawn. “Leaving you out here in the Deadlands all alone? This place isn’t known for being friendly.”

  “No,” the wagoner nodded. “It isn’t. But we made a deal with Kalel. And I’ll honour it even if he doesn’t. Matter of pride. I’d like to think we’re better than him. Besides, we’ve travelled this way before. Nothing here we can’t handle. And Ollie ain’t as bad with his bow as you think.”

  “Seemed a bit of a straight-shooter,” the elf allowed gently.

  Carter threw her a puzzled look before touching his forelock in salute. “Well. Be that as it may. I’ll leave you both to it. There isn’t much room in the wagon and Ollie’d never allow you to share it with us anyway. But the fire will keep you warm. Sleep well, Long-ear. Mage.”

 

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