The Wall of Darkest Shadow (Nysta Book 5)

by Lucas Thorn

  Instinctively drew Thought Control and slithered toward the opening.

  Had to move around a few deep wells in the ground. Wells made to drain water even deeper underground via shallow gutters carved into the stone. She could hear the rushing echo of a river far below and the air wafting up was humid and raw.

  Moving to glide through the archway, she nearly walked into the guard leaning up against the wall. His eyes were closed and his breathing regular. But his eyelids fluttered as she came round the corner and he sucked a deep breath.

  Deep enough to let out a scream if Thought Control hadn't driven into his throat, left of centre. Heart smashing in her chest, she tore the blade sideways, opening his neck with a torrential gush of red. She hissed another curse as his boots scuffled loudly and he slapped his palms desperately against the wall.

  The sound pattered like the feet of running beasts through the dark.

  She released the blade as he slumped twitching to the ground, drawing A Flaw in the Glass and spinning on her heel in case there were others she hadn't noticed. Others who might have sensed the quiet explosion of violence. But the guard had been alone.

  Luck, she allowed bitterly. Luck was all that had stopped her from being killed right there. She hadn't even heard him. Hadn't sensed his presence until she'd nearly walked right over him.

  Irritated, she dragged the body to the nearest well and tossed him down.

  Watched him fall into the darkness, but didn't hear the splash.

  Then cursed again as she realised she'd forgotten to retrieve her knife. Another stupid mistake. Mistakes brought about by her mind still churning with Jagtooth's judgements, Asa's payment, and Finnen's crew and their sacrifice.

  She looked down into the murky well. Let the sound of rushing water loosen her mind. Tried to push her doubts away and take back the cold sense of calm she needed to make it through the hostile town alive. Spun A Flaw in the Glass and sheathed the venomous blade. Spat into the gloom which had taken a decent knife.

  “Ah, well,” she sighed, rising to her feet. “Reckon we don't need no Thought Control.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  He was dressed in the black uniform of the Freemen. But where the defenders bore insignias and fetishes with pride, Bucky's men had stripped themselves down to their most basic uniform. Even their shoulders lacked studs or spikes. Runes, once painted directly onto the leather and iron, were scrubbed away. They were regimented, tidy, and identical. Everything Rule was fond of in an army.

  She found two sleeping in their undergarments. Armour set aside, neatly folded. She slit their throats wide open without a sound. Left them there, covered in their blankets, hoping their mattresses would soak most of the blood. Didn't want the whole town to be searching for her. Knew they would eventually, but didn't want it just yet.

  She needed time.

  The elf killed her third in the dark of the small room he'd just walked into in search of food. Unfortunately for him, she'd chosen to sneak into the larder when she'd heard him coming. If he'd walked past, he might've lived longer. As he strode inside, she moved. Slit him open from the back of his hip to just under his rib while her other hand kept the scream from bursting the silence. Stabbed him three more times before his struggles weakened.

  Then, while she twisted the knife inside him, her fourth dashed out of the shadows, his mind temporarily forgetting to raise the alarm as he dived in for the kill.

  Only when the first knife pierced his shoulder did he think to open his mouth to vent a scream. By then, she'd flung her third victim aside and followed her thrown blade to land on top of him. Punched him in the throat to curtail what would have been a shriek loud enough to echo through the Shadowed Halls. Shoved her other hand across his mouth, pressing hard. So hard the back of his skull cracked as she rammed him down to the ground.

  He couldn't breathe.

  His eyes bulged like they wanted to reach for the air his lungs so desperately needed.

  A Flaw in the Glass ripped into his chest. With a savage wrench on the knife, she drew more agony than he could have imagined. Pain reduced his thoughts to glittering stars. Stars which burned deep into his soul as it was torn from his writhing body and sent gibbering into the waiting arms of the Old Skeleton.

  The elf stared down at the face of the soldier for a brief moment, noting the agonised expression which didn't seem to want to relax in death.

  “Sorry, feller,” she muttered, wondering if she could hide the blood. Decided she probably couldn't. “Going through a hateful chapter in my life at the moment.”

  She moved quickly, finding keys on a hook by the door. On her way out, she locked it before sliding the key back under.

  Wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and kept moving.

  She had to get out of the building. Find out where she was. She doubted Bucky was here. The security was mostly irrelevant, the men clearly relaxed and wandering rather than patrolling. She figured wherever he was, he'd at least have a bit of noise around him.

  A few guards.

  The mysterious mage.

  Something.

  She couldn't immediately find a door leading out into the town. There weren't enough rooms to get lost in, but there were a lot of stairs. So, upward, she climbed, figuring eventually she'd find a way out of the guardhouse and into the town. Slowly, threading from shadow to shadow, muscles tightly coiled. The feeling of insects crawling across the back of her neck. Back of her shoulders.

  But they weren't insects, she reminded herself with a grimace. They were shadows. Inside her. Already the gashes and small cuts she'd received crawling through the tunnels under the barbican and town were almost gone. They'd heal with no trace, she knew.

  It should have delighted her. Should have made her feel brave.

  It didn't.

  It scared her to her core.

  No time for these thoughts, she kept moving. And walked into three guards moving down the stairwell. They carried longbows and heavy swords on their hips.

  Entrance Exam spun from her fingers, thrown with sudden fright and determination. The blade pierced the throat of the closest guard.

  Spun through him as though through smoke.

  Hit the wall with a sharp clang, bouncing back to skitter to the elf's feet.

  And the guards kept moving. Straight past the stunned elf, who reached out with one hand which slid right through the last guard's body. It felt cold. Ethereal. Like icy breath.

  They glided down the stairwell, heads firmly fixed forward. Not a clink of armour. No spoken words.

  She watched them with a mix of horror and shock. Looked down at her hand which was still feeling like she'd passed it through fog.

  When they were gone, she waited for several heartbeats.

  Which wasn't long, given the speed at which her heart was racing. Bent down and picked up the blade. Checked it for damage. Then sheathed it with a grunt and a tightening of her eyes.

  Apparitions.

  Asa was right. There was a mage here. A powerful one. She wondered how many of Bucky's men were just illusions. Their purpose was obvious. To convince the defenders they were outnumbered. To contribute to the hopelessness of men and orks huddled in the trenches.

  At the top of the stairs, she found herself on the walkway along the top of the walls of Lovespurn. She couldn't see the town's gates through the torrential rain and encroaching night, so wasn't sure how close she was to them.

  But she could see soldiers. They moved like dark wraiths. Some of them, she thought, would be. The rest would be real. They couldn't all be magical constructs.

  So she was careful, and kept herself low as she ran toward a ramp down.

  Shadows squirrelled through her body on a lattice of nerves as she waited for someone notice her and shout to bring more soldiers.

  More swords.

  And a part of her did mutter in the back of her mind. Mutter for her to just drop down the side of the wall. Get away. This wasn't her fight. Not her war.
>
  What did she really owe Asa? How far would she go for a simple trinket? There was nothing personal in what she was doing. She didn't care about Bucky. Didn't care about Asa, even.

  And to the Shadowed Halls with Jagtooth.

  Honour was for fools, she thought. Honour got you dead.

  An image of Necksqueeze's face, staring at her. Blood dribbling across his eyes. The axe, moving up and down with a butcher's rhythm into his back. Hacking him to pieces, and he didn't care. He didn't care because she'd gotten away.

  Away to finish a mission she'd accepted for the fragile excuse of a minor debt and a ring.

  She grit her teeth and rolled forward. Further into the dark of the shadows nestling against the battlements. Felt the freezing stone press against her wyrmskin jacket. Could smell the greasy stink of overcooked meat. Putrid garbage. Sourness infected the cookfire smoke and the air was practically alive with hopelessness as she looked down on the narrow streets fleeing in all directions with the haphazard design of panicked beasts.

  Jagtooth was right, she thought with a grim set of her jaw. The Old Skeleton had already visited this town. The Shadowed Halls had feasted.

  Her violet eyes swept the torches aligned erratically along the wall. The flames spitting in the wind and rain. Dull light peered from only a few windows, with the darker windows reflecting a fearful lack of curiosity uneasily explained.

  Looked left.

  Looked right.

  No sign anyone had seen her. No sign of anything. A few more dark shadows moved her way, but they strolled with ghostly intent. Unconcerned.

  “Huh,” she said.

  Looked over the edge. A long drop with nothing to cushion it. She didn't know how fast the shadows in her blood could heal a broken bone, so she didn't think to find out. Instead, kept moving toward the ramp leading off the wall and into the town. Could see a handful of guards also making their way toward it. If she moved fast, who'd make it first?

  With the rain sweeping the walls, it was hard to tell. Hard to judge distance.

  And were they real? Apparitions?

  The elf set her teeth.

  Sprinted, low as she could. Boots making little sound. Taken from a Black Blade scout she'd killed on the Wolfpaw Plains, they weren't what she would have preferred for this work. But they were soft enough to not rap against the stone and she hoped that whatever sound they did make was quickly lost to the rain.

  Closer to the winding ramp of crudely-chiselled stone, she saw there were three guards. Their edges became clearer. Crisp. She could see bows slung over their shoulders. Hands on their swords.

  She glanced over her shoulder. No light directly behind her. Could they see her?

  She pushed her luck, lifting a little and aiming for the opening. Leapt for the gap at what she figured was the last second before she'd be seen.

  Dropped and rolled, nearly twisting her leg as she dove for cover. Uneven footing made it harder to stop and she hit the side of the wall hard. Froze, clutching her cheek which had thudded into the stone and was sending waves of numb pain through her skull.

  They'd almost be right to the top, she thought. She had to move further down. And around the corner as the stairs twisted down. Out of view.

  Had they heard the scuffle of her body as it had landed? The echo of her crash sounded like thunder in her ears.

  Requires Only That You Hate trembled in her hand as though sensing the guards and thirsting for their blood. Mouth Eats Colour waited in her left. Patient. Sign of conflicting emotions rousing the ice in her belly.

  She shuffled down, moving as quickly as she could. Made it to the corner and looked back up just as the three made it to the top. They paused in the opening. Swaying gently on their feet. One moved his arms. From a distance, it looked like they were deep in conversation. But there was no sound.

  No voice emerged from their lips.

  Her eyes thinned to slits. The rain didn't touch their backs, either. It went right through them to splash into the puddles glistening across the stone walkway.

  The elf grinned without humour.

  And nearly died as a voice whispered smoothly from behind her, “Quiet bunch, ain't they?”

  She moved, a liquid flash of seething rage and fear.

  Knives flicking steel-edge light. She crashed into the speaker, rolling against the wall. Fury brought Mouth Eats Colour slashing up hard to press against the pulse throbbing in the side of a throat which knew life was only seconds from being spilled across the narrow ramp's shocked stone.

  “Nysta! It's me!”

  The elf ignored the sharply-uttered words. And the heavy blade pressing flat against her own gut. The growl emerging from her lips was feral. Glint in her eyes cruel and brimming with intent. “You switching sides?”

  “No! I-”

  “Because sneaking up on me like that, you'll end up just like them,” she hissed. Then, when the speaker looked back with confusion; “A ghost.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “They're not ghosts,” Melganaderna said, rubbing her throat where the marks from the elf's fingers still throbbed red. “I know ghosts. Being around Hem, I've seen more than a few.”

  The elf blinked. Looked around, still in the grip of fury. Though, whether she was angry because the young axewoman was here or because she'd managed to sneak up on her, she couldn't be sure. Her ears flushed as she realised it was most likely the latter. “Are those two idiots with you, too?”

  “Nope. They don't know I came. They're like two weasels in a sack now they've got magic to play with. They're busy with the deathpriest. Whispering to each other and sticking their noses in everything. They think I'm helping out with the defences. But I told you I can help you here. I just proved I can be quiet, didn't I?” The look in her eyes was cunning. She knew she'd managed to surprise the elf.

  Knew she'd proven something Nysta couldn't deny.

  Still, it meant only one of two things to the elf. Either Melganaderna had better skills than she'd previously shown, or Nysta was getting rusty. Too long in the Deadlands away from alleys and threats of violence in every shadow. Too long with open plains where you could mostly see trouble coming and prepare for it.

  And if Melganaderna had tracked her so easily, what about the men who were here in the town?

  Had they seen her already? Were they waiting?

  “Shit.”

  “Wow,” Melganaderna breathed, looking away. The elf followed the young axewoman's gaze. The Wall loomed beyond the town, becoming slightly clearer through a temporary lessening of the rain. The swordlike towers reached so high their razorsharp edges cut through the stormclouds. “Look at that. You know, it looked huge before, but...”

  “Yeah.”

  “You wonder why he built it like that. I mean, Motherf-” She shook her head, amazed. “Did it need to be so high?”

  Without comment, Nysta moved past the young woman. Sheathed her knives and pressed low to the wall. “Follow me.”

  “I think they're conjured,” Melganaderna said, reaching for the elf's elbow. “The ghosts? I saw a mage show off to my father, once. Said he could make entire armies appear from nowhere. They can't hurt you. Can't see you, or speak to you. But...”

  “It means we have a mage here,” Nysta finished for her. “So, we're mostly fucked. A cleric, a mage, and a bunch of fucking traitors with no way to know how many. They could be anywhere.”

  “We'll have to think every illusion is real. It's too hard to tell if they're real, anyway, unless you're close. Even then, it's hard.”

  “Rain,” the elf said, remembering. “It goes through them. And their boots ain't splashing. They ain't talking, either. So, if you see some dry feller and his lips are flapping without a sound, chances are he ain't there.”

  Melganaderna nodded, hefting the massive axe in both hands. “Good enough for me.”

  The elf hesitated at the base of the ramp, watching the rain dart into the mud. Looked back. “How'd you get into the town? I didn't see
you.”

  “I'd be surprised if you did,” she said. “Some of the mercenaries were talking. They said they'd found some tunnels which might lead into the sewers or something. Some of them were thinking about coming through and trying to hit the town from the inside. Anyway, I figured you'd go through them. But I went the other side. It wasn't easy. Or pretty. Came out in the latrines. I'll tell you, for the first time in a long time, I was grateful for the rain. I made some guesses as to where you'd be, and got lucky.”

  “Lucky.” The elf grunted. “Good or bad?”

  “We'll soon find out,” Melganaderna said. Wrinkled her nose as she lifted an arm and sniffed. “Although, I'll admit my idea to follow you through the sewers really stank.”

  “Sure was shitty,” the elf allowed. Then pointed through the rain to a set of buildings crouched to their left. “See those? There's an alley between the second and third. We'll make for that. My guess is Bucky's holing up somewhere near the front gates. Which I think are that way. Given it looks like he doesn't have enough men as we thought he did, he's gonna need to be close to the action. Think you can make it without falling on your face?”

  “I made it this far.”

  “I'll go first.”

  “And I'll kill whatever kills you.” The young axewoman's grin widened. “What? Don't look at me like that. You should be happy someone's here to avenge your grisly death.”

  The elf rolled her eyes. “Fuck off.”

  And shot into the rain. The first few steps were the hardest, her boots sliding unsteadily in the muddy street. Then she moved faster as her body adapted to the slippery surface and her balance shifted faster.

  She caught movement, but it was above and to her right. Along the wall. Then she was in the safety of the dark ally. She spun quickly and reached to pull Melganaderna in beside her. Violet eyes flickered this way and that, searching as they moved quickly down the alley to its back entrance. Paused in its mouth and took stock of the new street. Empty. Filled with promises of violence in every shadow.