by Lucas Thorn
His shriek ended in a choked gasp.
He twisted as he dropped, thick fingers dragging down her leg. Clods of wet mud joined the blood around his body. She pulled the blade free as he fell, eyes fixed to his twitching jowls.
“Consider yourself retrenched,” she muttered. Then snatched Market Me and ran onward, Juggling A Flaw in the Glass in one hand, and the other two smaller knives in her other. By the time Finnen caught up, his chest heaving with exertion, she'd cleaned and sheathed them all and was standing where the trenches forked in three different directions.
Red-faced and filmed with sweat, he shook his head at her. Beckoned her to wait. “Fuck, lass. Not sure why the captain sent us with you. We were supposed to slip past, not cut our way through them all.”
“Night's coming. I don't have time to piss about,” she said, already looking to where to go next. “Which way?”
He waved an arm. “That one, I think. But Meatslice'll be here in a second. He was right behind me. Let him tell you for sure.”
She felt a flare of frustration at having to wait. Finnen had his men moving through the trenches, killing where they could. Dying where they couldn't. Making noise.
Moving toward the right side of the barbican to distract from where she was going to slide into the shafts on the left.
A waste of lives, she thought now. Surely she could move fast enough to get through without being seen.
But Jagtooth was adamant. The cleric. The mage. The archers on the town's gates.
Too many risks, he said. Even if the cost was a lot lower than it would be.
Finnen barked off a few instructions to the handful of men and orks who barrelled suddenly into view. Their weapons dripped with gore. The largest of the orks, face diced up with scars, smeared blood down his chest and threw her a grin. Wide shoulder armour smothered in serrated spikes which had seen a lot of fighting. Fetishes tied all down his chest and legs obscured his uniform. Mostly made of rabbit fur by the look of it. Big green head covered in a broad black helmet. The horns had broken off it a long time ago.
“We lost Digdown,” he said casually as the other men hastily to follow Finnen's orders. “Took one of that fucking cleric's bolts to the neck. Blasted his head right off his shoulders.”
“Cleric got him? Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit. I didn't even see him.”
“Digdown was one of the best,” Meatslice said, dropping down into the trench. He was covered in mud from the top of his head to the bottom of his toes. Mud which had helped him blend to the ground. “Gave me my first knife.”
“How many you kill with it?”
“About twenty. So far.”
The big ork nodded solemnly. “Good knife, then.”
“Like him,” Meatslice returned. “One of the best.”
Finnen frowned at the young scout. “Where've you been, laddie? She's been waiting. She's impatient, too. Look at her. Thought she was going to take my ears off when I told her we had to wait for you.”
The elf leaned against the trench wall and watched the trio with an impassive expression. “Ain't got room in my pockets for six ears,” she said. “But might just squeeze in six eyes.”
“Wouldn't get far without us,” Meatslice said, grinning wide. “These trenches are a maze.”
“I'll see,” the elf drawled.
“Well, before you make any blind decisions, best you see this.” He moved next to her and straightened slowly to peered across the ruined ground. “There.”
Much shorter than the ork, she had to dig her boots into the mud to climb the side to look over. Saw they weren't too far from the front gates of the town which served to block the barbican and keep the bottleneck tightly controlled. Maybe only a few hundred metres away. Close enough to see the gates were made of thick beams of wood bound in massive metal bracers. All painted black.
A few skulls decorated its side. Skulls with chipped teeth and yellowed bone.
Old skulls.
One still wore a helm she recognised as belonging to a Star Sword.
Runes were splashed in bright blue paint across one of the gates. Runes meant to protect it from being shattered. She wondered if there really was any magic in them.
Between her and the gates lay dozens of trenches zigzagging across the ground. Some were shallow, and she could see the backs of men bellying along through them. Others were deep enough to stand in.
A few bodies lay where they'd fallen. Sightless eyes peering back at her.
Waiting.
Looking up, she saw heavy clouds rolling across the open roof. Rain had paused for a brief moment while the subtle purple light of early evening wove among the steel grey. But even if it was pouring, she didn't think there was any amount of rain which would wash the blood from the ground.
She returned her gaze to the gates, partially open, and watched as soldiers moved inside and out. She counted a few dozen near the gates, and a lot more milling around behind. Was about to look away when she noticed something strange.
Something in the way the soldiers mingled.
Or didn't.
It was, she thought, like they were two factions and both sides were blissfully ignoring the other.
“Huh,” she said, unsure what to make of it. Knowing something was wrong.
“You won't get through there,” Meatslice said. “Even for us, there's too many of the bastards to think about storming through. Jagtooth thought of pushing them back to the town gates. But look. Up there. Archers. There's just too many. And they're not being careful with arrows, so we figure they've got a lot of stock. We'll all get cut down if we get much closer. As it is, some of them are great shots with the longbow. Especially when they smuggle a few in and shoot from the trenches. But you saw that on your way in. We're only lucky they haven't been able to get on the roof yet. Thankfully, the only way up is from inside the Wall.”
“And you can't get up there because of the goblins?”
“That's right. Was one of the first things we tried. But the rooms aren't moving properly. We lost ten before Jagtooth called it off. Couldn't afford to lose more.”
“Where are the shafts?”
“Down the side. See the pillars up against the edge there? Well, right under each is a grate. You need to lift it and get in as quick as you can. And they make noise. Ain't one of them has been oiled in their life. That's why we're here. To make noise enough to hide what you're doing.”
“How'd you get in the first time?”
“Luck,” he said. “We were over there wondering what the fuck to do when the cleric started spitting magic at everyone. He's not quiet when he goes on one of his rampages. Not got the best aim neither, but you don't need to in a place like this. Anyway, we got it up when he was blasting some of the trenches.”
“And they're mostly collapsed?”
“Sure. I hadn't looked into all of them. But we figured maybe one up closer to the gate would be worth opening up.” He grunted. “Actually, that was Inkiri's idea. She liked the idea of digging through. She would've gone further herself, but I wouldn't let her. Didn't want her running into a squad. She's a great scout. Ain't such a great fighter, though. See that pillar there? Right near the carving of the cave troll?”
Violet eyes narrowed. “I see it.”
“To the right of it. Maybe three paces for you.” He dropped back down into the trench. Held his arms apart a little wider than his shoulders. “It's about this big. Round. Weighs a lot. But Inkiri was able to lift it, so you should be fine. I'd come with you, but I'm part of the noise to keep Bucky's lot distracted.”
“Three paces?” She began the instinctive process of checking her knives, uncertain of the young ork's reliability. “You sure?”
He shrugged. “Even if your ears are longer, you're a lot shorter than me. Makes it hard to guess. But three steps or four? Ain't much difference between the two.”
“Stupid way of measuring shit anyway,” Finnen said. “Three paces? Long
or short paces? You running or walking?”
“Well, I didn't have the fucking time to measure it,” Meatslice growled. “Shit. What's wrong with you people? Don't you like risk? Live a little.”
“Trouble is, we're trying to live a lot,” Finnen said.
Meatslice shrugged. “We're soldiers. That won't happen.”
“Yeah. Thanks for the reminder, laddie,” Finnen said drily. “I appreciate it.”
“No problem. You ready to make some noise?”
“Noise? After your rousing speech, you'll be lucky to get a whimper.”
“Didn't expect much from you anyway, old man,” Meatslice grinned. Slapped the Fnord on the back. “But I'm told I have the biggest mouth in the army. I'll have this place ringing to the glorious sound of my voice in no time.”
“Grim help us,” Finnen muttered. Then raised his voice to a grating bark as he turned on the others sitting around smirking at the two. “Alright, lads. You know what we're up to. Make a noise, the captain said. Big enough to get every one of Bucky's bastards looking at us. I think he's thinking we stand around on top of the trenches and give them our best come-hithers and a bit of a shout. Now I don't know about you, but I ain't one for kissing the enemy.”
The heavily-scarred ork raised a vicious-looking axe. “Kiss 'em with this, I will.”
“That's the spirit, Necksqueeze. Reckon you all feel the same by the looks of you?” He waited for a few nods before continuing. “Right, then. See Nysta here? She's going to help, Jagtooth says.”
“Only just noticed her now you pointed her out,” Necksqueeze said, baring his teeth in a wide grin. “Little thing, ain't she? Don't look like she'll be much help.”
The elf's violet eyes glittered, but she said nothing. Just spat on the ground at her feet and stared back impassively. Knew this was Finnen's moment.
Knew Necksqueeze was speaking to drive the fear from his belly as he prepared to mount the walls of the trenches and look the Old Skeleton in his bony face.
Her eyes skimmed the young orks and humans squatting around the old stripe. Some looked nervous. One of the older ones was checking notches on his hatchet.
As her gaze swept back over Necksqueeze, he nodded.
A nod which said more than anything Finnen was trying to say.
Which made her think of Jagtooth's questions. What was she doing here?
Why was she fighting?
The elf reached up and rubbed the scar on her cheek. It burned with contained hate. Aimless and uncontrolled. Like so much of her life, she thought with sudden clarity.
Maybe that's what Jagtooth really saw in her.
Chaos.
“-then she'll cut off his head!” Finnen's voice rose in pitch to combat a burst of cheers. “But we've got to help her get there, right? But not by kissing the wind. We're gonna do what no one fucking expects. We're going over, lads. All of us. I'll be right with you, bad leg and all. And we're gonna take it to them. We're gonna feed them their fucking traitorous hearts through their fucking teeth. And, if we're lucky, who knows? Maybe we won't need the elf. Maybe we'll get through ourselves, eh? Maybe we'll get Bucky's head on our own. That'll show her Imperial Highness who's the best round here, wouldn't it? Because I reckon it's about time we showed everyone what's what. Bucky always hated us. Remember how he never once spent time with our crew? Never once drank with us. Him and his lot always thought we were shit, right? Well. By pouring their derision upon anything we did, they've sealed their fates. Sure, we might not be the most glamorous bunch, but we're definitely the toughest.”
“Speak for yourself,” Necksqueeze sneered. He touched the mess which was his face. “Barmaids love scars, they do.”
“Is that right?”
“That's right.”
“Then I reckon we need to get out there now. Cut us down some of Bucky's bastards. And earn ourselves some scars.”
“Could always use a few more. Need to balance out my cheeks.”
“You still have cheeks?”
“I think so.”
“Well, that's my speech, lads. You all feeling motivated to kill these pricks?”
“Just point the way,” Meatslice said, testing his knife with his thumb. “And then get out of it, old man. You're slowing me down.”
“The way?” Finnen mocked him with surprise. “You don't know the way to the gates? Why, laddie, they're right there. Just a few dozen of Bucky's bastards between us and it.”
“Few dozen? That ain't much.”
“Then why you sitting around? Why ain't you up there? Why ain't the lot of you up there? We've got bastards to bleed!”
“Say it, then,” Necksqueeze growled, leaping to his feet. “Just give the order, stripe, and I'll clear the way between here and fucking Icereach. You'll see.”
Finnen looked to the elf, who returned his unspoken question with a slow nod.
He licked his lips.
Smiled. “I'm proud of you, lads. Let's all drink in the Shadowed Halls together. I'll be buying.” Then, raising his voice high, he pointed to the gates of the city and cried; “We bring death! Death to them all!”
“Death!” The soldiers rose as one, rushing the trench walls. Scrambling up. Chanting as one, none more eagerly than Meatslice. “Death! We bring blood! We bring death!”
Finnen hesitated for a second. Reached out and took the elf's shoulder. For once, she didn't think of cutting it off.
His eyes were glazed, though he didn't look afraid.
Serenity, the kind which bred cults, oozed from his gaze. “Our blood is yours, Nysta. Don't waste it.”
“I won't,” she said quietly as the first screams of agony shrieked through the barbican's tunnel. “I'll have his head tonight.”
With no more words to give, the old stripe turned and darted up the muddy walls, fingers digging deep. Tore his weapons free as he reached the top and charged ahead, joining his men in the nearest trench where blood was already running in crimson waves.
Closing her eyes, the elf stood alone in the mud.
Listened to the struggles. The slap of steel and flesh.
Taste of iron in her mouth as the shadows squirmed beneath her skin, urging her to join the fight. To kill and kill.
“Ain't my battle,” she said softly.
Aware she couldn't wait any longer, she slipped from the trench and began bellying along through the slimy mud toward the pillar Meatslice and pointed out. Was easily able to see the opening he'd spoken of and grabbed hold of the iron grating as Finnen's shrill voice roared out from the depths of the trenches close to the gates. “For Asa, you bastards, we bring you blood! We bring you death! Die, you bastards! Fucking die!”
The desperation in his voice sent chills down her spine as she opened the grate. Winced at the sound of metal as the hinges tore the air. Despite Meatslice's warning, she hadn't expected it to be so loud. And realised it was because of this few seconds of sound that Finnen had led his men to their deaths.
Body fuelling with emotion, she waited for a moment. Grate held open.
Looking across the battle with fear turning like an icy ball in her belly.
Half-expecting the cleric to come waltzing out with magic shooting from his hands.
Grunted when she felt she was safe to climb inside.
Then saw Necksqueeze.
The scarred ork was on his belly, half-emerged from one of the trenches. He'd managed to drag himself mostly free, but wouldn't be making it any further. Blood poured from a gaping wound which had split his face in half. His helm, shattered and broken, still clung to his scalp.
Standing behind him, one of Bucky's soldiers repeatedly hammered the ork with a heavy axe which tore chunks from the ork's back with each blow.
But Necksqueeze was beyond noticing.
His stare already glazed.
Mouth set in a grin as he watched her.
Watched with dying eyes and a gleeful chuckle which followed him into the Shadowed Halls as she slid into the dark.
&nbs
p; Her mind tumbled in confusion at emotions she hadn't expected to be feeling.
Didn't want to be feeling.
And, where fear had been digging with icy fingers, the heat of her hatred began to burn hotter. Bucky. She had to find him. Had to tear his fucking head off. With her bare hands. The drive to kill the traitor general was too much to resist, so she let it lead her.
For a moment, she knelt in the dark while her eyes adjusted and struggled with tears she refused to spill. She considered drawing A Flaw in the Glass for the extra light, but her body was too tense to move. Too filled with the last image of Necksqueeze's grin.
He was dead because of her, she thought. He'd sacrificed himself for her. And didn't even know a single thing about her. He'd trusted instead in the importance of her task. Trusted she'd follow through.
Jagtooth's words. His contempt, barely hidden.
What would she choose to be paid for? To die for?
The ring in her pocket suddenly weighed a ton as its obligation tugged at her even as the the heat of emotion drained slowly away. Drained to a sombre flicker of rage so molten that if it was a volcanic lake of lava, she'd throw the ring inside and let it burn.
Realised she was giving it too much attention and scowled. It's just a bauble, she thought. A few gems on a circlet of gold. Muttered; “It ain't that precious.”
Wanted to move on, but still she waited until she could move her hand to her knife without feeling the urge to climb back out and go through the trenches on a wave of steel.
Then aimed herself forward and quickly found the spot Meatslice had talked about. Where a small gap promised entry into the earth and possibly the town beyond.
She looked back once. Again felt the sharp tug of promised violence, but pushed it away and began the painful process of worming her way between tightly-compacted rock and debris.
It was slow-going, and she picked up more gashes and grazes than she could count while digging through the small tunnel. Swore constantly until it became a frustrated string of frustrated curses. Kept thinking she had to turn back. The gaps were too small. Too tight.
But when she popped loose on the other side into a narrow corridor carved into the stone foundations, she let her lip curl into a cruel grin and counted it worth the pain. Lit torches lined the wall and an arched doorway promised a satisfying end to her uncomfortable journey.
