Revenge Of The Elf (Book 1)

Revenge Of The Elf (Book 1) Page 13

by Lucas Thorn

  The first few blows landed cleanly against her ribs and she choked back a cry before hauling herself sideways in an attempt to pull it off balance.

  Roaring, the creature tugged her toward its swinging claws. The elf grit her teeth in agony as her ribs protested the sudden movement needed to block the powerful swipe of its claws with her forearm. Though the loosely-bound bracer prevented its claws from finding skin, the impact sent a shudder of pain up the bones of her wrist.

  It lunged at her throat, jaws opening impossibly wide. Splintered fangs glittered like broken glass.

  Biting her panic, she pivotted hard on her heel.

  Kicked with every ounce of strength she could summon. Caught it in the guts, angling up toward its ribs. Felt something crack. It didn’t even make a sound as it reeled away on its unsteady feet.

  Her eyes glittered with hate as she stalked the staggering Lichspawn. The eldritch smell of it wafted toward her on the frozen wind.

  The elf wiped her mouth with the back of her fist.

  Spat at its feet. “Ain’t from Two Rivers,” she scowled. “So this is for tugging my fucking braids.”

  Token Goblin Fighter punched hungrily into corrupted flesh to drill a hole in its heart. Followed through with several merciless thrusts to its shoulder and neck.

  It toppled to the ground, empty eyes pouring an ocean of sorrow into hers so that, for a moment, she felt sorry for it.

  The sudden wash of feeling puzzled her and her gaze was caught by the sight of its claws clicking together as it died. Like an insect struggling against death. She wondered why it hadn’t used those claws to tear out her throat when it’d pulled her head back.

  It’s what she would have done.

  “Nysta!” Chukshene cried, blowing her thoughts away like papers in the wind. “Down!”

  The sharp boiling smell of magic made her stomach lurch and the elf threw herself down without even thinking about it.

  The fat man screamed shrilly as a shaft of thick yellow light shot over her head, melting the air. Encircled the remaining creatures within a ring of diseased light.

  The light pulsed slowly and the elf’s ears filled with the echo of ghostly whispers which seemed to come from all around. Catching only a few fragments, the elf shuddered and hairs rose sharply on the back of her neck at the grotesque nature of the words.

  Only fear of what would happen if she closed her eyes kept them open.

  The pale-skinned monstrosities moaned as one while the oily rope of light wove around their torsos. Licked their skin with an awful rasping tongue.

  Then detonated in a violent burst that made the ground spasm beneath her. Black blood fell in gruesome puddles and the elf gagged as a large chunk of corrupted meat thumped down in front of her face.

  She stared at the trembling flesh for a moment before tearing her gaze away and scrambling to her feet. Her ears rang with the echo of the explosion and she rounded on the warlock, slumped across his horse.

  His fist glowed with energy and he groaned as he released it.

  Heart hammering in her chest at the thought of magic being used around her, she spat hard to get the bad taste of it out of her mouth. Shuddered again as the ghostly whispers faded with a faint giggle on the wind.

  “Are they dead?” the fat man’s eyes were wide and he backed away from the shimmering black shards of meat.

  “Resting in pieces,” the elf muttered, jogging toward her horse. The animal seemed unwilling to move, riveted in fear. “Come here, you stupid fuck.”

  “Who?” Chukshene blinked, a dazed expression sliding across his face. “I-”

  “Not you, ‘lock. The fucking horse.” Her eyes caught movement and she saw more figures shambling through the town gates. “Hey! Fatman! Get the fuck over here. Move!”

  He hurried over, glancing toward the gates in horror. “Oh shit,” he sobbed. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!”

  “Get up,” she scowled, shoving him toward the horse. “Come on, you fat prick!”

  Chukshene clutched his head and wheeled his horse. “What are you doing? You can’t stay here!”

  “Not gonna,” the elf grunted, watching the fat man fumble his way onto the horse. Pushed him up with a shake of her head. “But I can run faster than you short-eared fuckers. Lift, fatman! We don’t have all fucking night!”

  “I’m trying,” he whined.

  “Try harder!”

  The pale creatures were fast approaching. Eventually the fat man managed to get himself mostly over the horse’s back so when she smacked the flank, he didn’t fall off when the mare bolted.

  The horse was smart enough to avoid the trenches clawed into the earth and angled swiftly toward a casual incline that seemed smoother than much of the land.

  Chukshene threw her a curt nod and kicked his heels into his horse as she rushed back to the bodies for her blades. Keeping her eye on the approaching creatures, she gathered them with a cursory wipe through snow before sheathing on the run.

  The moans which followed her flight made her look back and she was surprised to see the creatures kneeling in the snow, consuming the ghastly remains. There was a tenderness to the way way they lifted the raw flesh to their mouths that made the elf’s hair stand on end.

  Suppressing horror, she sprinted after the horses. Caught them with an ease which made the warlock’s eyes bulge and led them away from the town without slowing.

  “Where are we going?” the spellslinger called.

  “Away from those fellers,” the elf replied. “Like to know what the fat man saw before I go back.”

  “You’re actually thinking of going back?” Chukshene’s jaw nearly dropped to the ground. “Are you mad?”

  “Nope,” she ran faster, relishing the adrenaline kicking through her veins. Each pumping of her heart was loud in her ears and her muscles felt like clay. “Worse than mad. I’m fucking pissed.”

  “You know what I mean, you Grim-cursed elf! It’s crazy to go back there! Do you even know what they are?”

  “No. Do you?”

  “Well, no. But I don’t think that’s the fucking point! They’re not demons. They have shadows for eyes. Black shit for meat. And I’ve never heard of them. That right there’s enough to know they’re more fucking dangerous than you realise and should probably be left a-fucking-lone!”

  “I know they die,” she skipped over a large rock. “About all I don’t know is how many there are. And the fat man’s gonna tell me the answer to that. Anything else is a bonus.”

  “You’re insane,” he shot a look over his shoulder at the retreating town. “That place is fucking cursed. I haven’t seen anything more cursed than that since my sister reached puberty. Had a face like boiled fucking meat and tits like old pine cones.”

  When she was satisfied they’d left the town far enough behind, the elf eased back until she was running neck and neck with her horse. Snaked her hand up to grab a fistful of mane and brought her weight down to bring the animal to a shuddering halt. Pawing the earth, it reared its head in irritation and she knew immediately what it was thinking.

  “You bite me, and I’ll fucking cut your heart out and feed it to you,” the elf hissed.

  The horse flattened its ears as she touched a hand to Entrance Exam, then shook its head and looked somewhere else.

  “What are you doing?” the fat man panted. He dug his heels into the horse, but the elf’s firm grip kept it still. “We can’t stop here. We can’t! We have to keep going! Let go! We must get away!”

  He snatched at her hand to loosen her grip but the elf moved faster. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist. Tugged hard.

  Screaming, the fat man landed with such an awkward thump that the spellslinger clicked his tongue in sympathy. “Making more friends, Nysta?”

  Roll
ing like an overgrown maggot, the man looked up at her with an enraged expression. “What the fuck you do that for?”

  Entrance Exam pressed sharply against his cheek, just under his eye. “It’s my horse,” she said evenly. “You just got to borrow it for a while is all. Don’t forget that.”

  “Alright, alright,” he tried to bat the knife away, but froze when she stomped her boot onto his chest to pin him to the ground.

  “Listen to me, fatman, and listen good,” her voice spilled through the air like glass shattering across stone. “I aim to find nine men. Dressed in grey. Riding horses. Led by a piece of shit with red hair who answers to the name of Raste. Nothing else matters to me. Nothing at all. Not my life. Not your life. So, you answer me and answer me fast. They go inside?”

  He shook his head and licked his purple lips. “You fucking kidding me?”

  “I look like a joker?”

  “No,” his eyeballs rolled in his skull as he tried to focus on the blade. He tried to focus and his eyes slid over her body like a greased tongue. He let out a nervous giggle. “I guess not. But you gotta admit. Don’t usually see a woman with as many knives as you got. Not outside the kitchen.”

  “Don’t see many men with their guts wrapped around their throat and their brains oozing out their nose,” she countered. “But you keep that shit up, and we might.”

  The fat man showed a glimmer of intelligence by wiping the grin off his face. His gaze slid away from hers and he gave a short nod. “I didn’t mean nothing by it,” he said carefully. “Was just saying, is all.”

  “Forget it, then. Go back to my first question. Or I’ll start with your eye and work my way down to your toes. Might take a while given how much you’re carrying, but I reckon I can help you lose weight. Get me?”

  Despite the cold, sweat glistened on the fat man’s brow. Single drops squeezed through his pores and quickly ran down his cheeks. “That ain’t nice. I can’t help being what I am.”

  “What you are is a fat useless old man talking himself to death,” she said evenly. “What’s more important right now is what I am.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Impatient. So, I guess things should be looking pretty bad to you, fatman. Could get a lot worse. And if you want it all to be jake, you’d better spill everything you got before I spill it for you.”

  The fat man looked up at her in terror.

  “Colourful, isn’t she?” Chukshene put in. He slid unsteadily off his horse, which looked almost relieved to be rid of him. “I’d tell her what she wants or she’ll go on for days.”

  Ignoring the warlock, she kept her violet eyes firmly fixed on the fat man beneath her boot. “Are they in Spikewrist?”

  “I’m telling you honest, Long-ear. I ain’t seen anyone but those white pieces of shit for days. Last person I saw who wasn’t one of them was Ellie Sparklight, and even then only through the window,” he slumped back, looking up to the grey sky tumbling overhead. “I don’t even know if that poor kid’s alive.”

  The elf grunted, snapped Entrance Exam back into its sheath and looked out over the empty plain toward the town. It squatted like a guard dog in the distance. Ready to bite.

  “Hey, ‘lock?” her voice was soft.

  “Yeah?”

  “You make a fire?”

  “What do you think I am? A tinder-fucking-box?”

  “Just do it, Chukshene. I ain’t liking it any more than you, believe me. But there’s fuck all wood around, so magefire will have to do. Or whatever fire your kind use.”

  Shaking his head, the spellslinger chewed his lip. “You know, you’d be a hit at the Frozen Tower. They’d love you. My master would find it most refreshing to have you bully him around. Come to think of it, I’d pay to see it.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “You trying to buy me, Chukshene?”

  “Fuck no!” he held his arms out. “I was just saying is all. Speculating. You know? A joke? It wasn’t a serious proposal. Fuck, Nysta. Do you have to be so fucking sensitive?”

  “The fire, Chukshene.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a bad idea? Those things might come after us. Light out here will draw them like a fucking beacon.”

  “I don’t reckon they’ll go far from the town,” she said. She wasn’t sure why she believed it, but as she said it she knew it felt right. “Whatever they are, I figure they’re happy where they’re at. Or they’d have come after us. What do you think, fatman?”

  “The name ain’t fatman. It’s Mccabe,” he said dully. “And I wouldn’t know shit about those sons of bitches except what they eat.”

  “What’s that?” Chukshene asked.

  “Us.”

  “Oh.”

  “You had to ask,” the elf said wryly.

  “Reflex action,” he countered.

  “Reflex mouth, more like.”

  “Funny,” he grunted, beckoning the yellow globe of light over his book. He shuffled through it for the right spell. “A real fucking barrel of laughs.”

  She moved toward a swollen rock shivering up through the snow and sat with a sigh.

  Grunted as she realised how punished she felt after running so far. It’d been a while since she’d really pushed herself and began to regret not having kept as fit as she’d been during her training years. If any members from her former guild saw her now, they’d think her weak.

  They’d want to cut her hair. Make her grow it again.

  Her fingers brushed against a ragged strip. Blue. Edged with yellow.

  Impassively, she watched the fat man mutter to himself as he dusted himself dry. His nervous glance flicked between her and the town before settling on the spellslinger.

  “You sure they won’t come out here?” he asked. “They looked hungry.”

  Chukshene shrugged. “Nysta?”

  Digging her hand into her pocket, the elf fingered the cold box as she spoke. “They ain’t coming. I’ll hear the bastards long before you see them. So, relax. I’ll tell you when to piss yourself.”

  The air suddenly smelled sharp, like iron filings, and the elf bared her teeth as the warlock murmured words of power.

  Her stomach curled and she felt her muscles tighten like coiled springs. Forced herself to remain still as he spat the final word which made the ground between them flare.

  Deep red flame and bubbles of molten rock spewed forth from the earth like a miniature volcano.

  Despite the fear of magic rushing through her brain, the elf was impressed as warmth bathed her face. His control over the small volcanic rupture in the ground was surprising. And welcome. She smiled into the heat and allowed her muscles to relax.

  “Not so bad after all, am I?” he said, as if reading her thoughts.

  “Could almost warm to you.”

  The spellslinger snorted. “Anything warms that frozen core of yours, it’d be a fucking miracle.” He nodded at the fire. “It won’t last long. An hour, maybe.”

  “If we need it any longer, you can cast it again,” she told him.

  “Sure,” he said blandly. “Who could refuse such a polite request? I’ll cast it until my ears bleed, if you like. I don’t need my mind. Must be half out of it already to keep following you, I think. I mean, you’ve nearly killed me, pissed me off, slaughtered a couple of wagoners, attacked a fucking ork, and now you want to jump into a town filled with fucking undead cannibals. What next? March into Rule’s Chapel and steal his cups?”

  Mccabe dragged himself closer to the fire despite the suspicious look on his face. “This magefire?” he asked. “It don’t look like magefire. You a mage? I don’t go for Demonraisers.”

  The spellslinger’s mo
uth opened, but it was Nysta who snapped at him. “And what the fuck would you know about magefire, fatman? Or Demonraisers?” Her eyes glinted dangerously. “Whatever fire it is, it’ll keep you from freezing your fat ass off. So sit the fuck down. I don’t want to hear shit from you except answers to my fucking questions.”

  He sat, futility taking over. All the same, he made a barely heard prayer to Grim for protection as the spellslinger shot the elf a glance which showed he couldn’t decide if he was puzzled or grateful for her intervention.

  “They ain’t undead,” the fatman offered dully after a few seconds. He rubbed his knees as he spoke. “Don’t know what they are. But they ain’t people neither. They’re something else. Ah, fuck. What am I doing out here in this cursed place? I should’ve stayed on Cobtooth’s ranch. Those piece of shit cows don’t seem so bad right now.”

  “Well, they’re not demons,” the warlock said.

  “Like I said, I don’t know what the fuck they are. Just know I won’t be going back there. Not on your fucking life,” he hugged himself and shivered. “And I feel bad for them folks left behind. But I can’t save them. I ain’t a killer like you, Long-ear. Nor a spellslinger like you. I’m just an old cowhand turned honest trader.”

  “There such a thing?” she asked with a sardonic twist of her mouth. She found it hard to believe he’d ever worked a hard day in his life. “An honest trader?”

  The fat man scowled, then slumped again. He was too tired to keep any amount of outrage in his body. The terror which had been consuming him seemed to have gutted him.

  The elf had seen it before in soldiers who spent too long behind enemy lines. Chances were if the fat man did survive the night, he’d be a shell of the person he was before. Her threats had worked to get his mind off the creatures in the town, but she doubted they’d hold him together for long.

  Unless his mind was stronger than she gave him credit for.

  She watched as he worked his jaw before he said slowly; “No more than a wise elf, I’d say.”

  “He got you there, Nysta,” chortled the spellslinger.

 

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