The Wall of Darkest Shadow (Nysta Book 5)

by Lucas Thorn

  The old man blinked. Writhed, his limbs flailing uselessly. Eyes widened big enough to pop.

  “Good to see you back, Marvyn. I wanted you here to see this.”

  “Fuckin' Tainted whore-”

  He got no further.

  Entrance Exam streaked in with a glittering blur of steel and a spray of deepest crimson. It cut through the front of his throat, just under his jaw. Driven with the elf's manic strength, it didn't even hesitate as it sheared through bone to punch half an inch into the wood behind his neck.

  Impatience threaded the icy ball in the pit of her belly. “Die, you old fuck.”

  A few more gasping spurts of blood bubbled at the mouth of the wound. His fingers clawed nerveless.

  She wrenched the blade free with a grunt. Wiped it on his coat. Sheathed both blades. Then turned to where Melganaderna was watching. The younger woman struggled with her expression, before settling on something void of emotion.

  Looked directly into the elf's gaze and nodded, accepting hidden changes.

  Changes the elf had once been forced to make herself.

  “The world's a fucked up place,” Melganaderna said at last. “I have a god on my trail and I want to do more than just survive. I want to win. And I know that means I have to be prepared to do things I don't always want to do. Tell me. Tell me how you do them. I need to know.”

  The elf remembered a moment in her life.

  Screaming in an alley.

  Hand fisted around a makeshift shiv. Blood on her fingers. Between her fingers. Look of surprise and pain on a man's face in front of her.

  The Old Skeleton dancing at his shoulder, wrestling with his soul. Pulling it, kicking and screaming, from his corpse and dragging him to the depths of the Shadowed Halls.

  Her tears, not of guilt.

  But because, in passing that final line which existed between what she was becoming and what the little waif who'd been kicked from her father's home believed, she'd felt a change more visceral than anything in her short life. Like she was being reborn inside the clawing fingers of death.

  Had she ever felt life was meaningful?

  Had any life actually meant anything?

  Talek.

  “You ever notice, kid, that the people telling you how to live your life are the ones with the most to lose if you don't do what they say?” She tightened her jaw. Violet eyes like chips of stone, she glared at the door and lost her mind to the past. “I grew up on the street. Not in a fucking castle. Or even a hut. I slept in the rain. And, sometimes when it snowed,slept in the fucking snow. I ate leftovers. Had to fight with rats for it sometimes. Weren't so bad. Sometimes got to kill a rat. Maybe cooked it first. Rats don't taste good, but when you're hungry they're the best meal you've ever had. Took a long time to get around to killing a feller. Reason I didn't earlier was I thought too much about what'd happen. Cared too much about what it meant to take a life. Even when they were the worst of the worst, I cared too much. Didn't want to do anything bad. Thought it might anger the gods. But then I realised there ain't no gods looking out for me. If there were, why was I on the fucking street trying to kill a fucking rat? Seems to me the rat's got better gods than I did. At least the rats don't sleep outside. Guilt, kid, is for those comfortable times when you've got a heavy purse of gold and you're in a big city on your way to a home filled with family. You've got everything you ever wanted. Your belly's full and you've had a bit too much to drink, but the city guard are keeping you safe. Regrets are for when you're old. And the only way you get to be that age, is by not giving a shit now. You want to know how I do this? Easy. I just fucking do it. Don't think about it. Just do it.”

  “Sounds easy.”

  “Easy as putting on your shoes.” She moved to the door and opened it, moving into the rain and heading down the middle of the street.

  She didn't care anymore.

  “Shouldn't we be a little more careful?” Melganaderna rushed up behind her. “They'll be all over us like a pack of wolves if we're not careful.”

  The elf jerked her head back to where the light was spilling from the broken door into the waterlogged street. “Given what happened back there, only seems right we meet a few dammed dogs.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  She wasn't as reckless as she seemed. The rain was falling like thick sheets of shattered glass. It was hard to see anything, especially with so few torches lit. As they approached the front of the town closer to the gates, the elf angled to the side of the street. Moved up onto one of the porches.

  Melganaderna shivered as they ducked out of the rain. “I think I prefer snow,” she said.

  The elf nodded, not caring one way or the other.

  She watched a few dark shapes moving on the shadowy wall above. They were hard to make out, but their torches pinpointed them.

  Two more came walking smoothly from an alley nearby and Melganaderna tightened her grip on the axe, but the elf ignored them after a cursory glance. “They ain't there.”

  “I'm not blind,” Melganaderna shot back. Then flushed. “Sorry.”

  Nysta pointed to a steep-sloping roof rising above the others. “Reckon that might be the house Bucky's in?”

  “It's big enough.”

  “Couple of fellers out front.” She noticed Melganaderna squinting through the dark and rain. Pointed. “There, on the right side near the fence.”

  “Under the tree?”

  “That's them. There'll be a few more down the side, I figure.”

  “You've got good eyes.” She smiled, an impish smile. “Maybe I am blind. You thinking of getting on the roof?”

  “Could be slippery.”

  “We'll fall and break our necks.”

  “You can wait here if you want.”

  “And miss out on all the fun?”

  The elf grunted, leading the way back down an alley a few buildings closer. Hoped to circle up behind the house. Everything was tightly packed together, so there wasn't much challenge in getting from one roof to the other. But doing it without being seen or heard would be almost impossible. And, as Melganaderna had pointed out, the weather was both a blessing and a curse. Most likely they would fall.

  Getting a look at the house from another angle might help, she thought.

  Maybe there was another way.

  Something else was also causing her stomach to feel cold with fear. The house was large. Had most likely been some kind of inn, or boarding house. Which meant there should be more guards inside. Especially given they weren't standing out in the rain. Just how many would be there was beyond guessing. Chances are they wouldn't find out until they were inside and surrounded.

  And then there was the cleric.

  The gates were quiet now. Maybe he'd come back here to rest.

  Then what of the mage? If he could sense anyone leaving, had he sensed her?

  Too many questions with no answers.

  She reached up and twirled her fingers around a lock of drenched hair. Felt the knotted cloth. She'd killed a cleric before. Sure, Hemlock had helped, but she didn't doubt she could have done it on her own. A few more stabs in the face and he'd have gone down. Tear out his neck and he couldn't have cast a thing.

  And spellslingers?

  Well.

  An image of Talek burning. His screams. His moans.

  Writhing body bleeding and torn.

  The months of agony afterward.

  As always when she thought of him, she found her hand delving into her pocket where she tightened her fingers around the small box. Its surface scarred with spidery runes. A box which had opened in her palm. A box she should never have needed to touch in the first place.

  As she withdrew her hand, her fingers touched the heavy ring and she felt, for a moment, the history of emotions the young-looking princess had stored inside it. A bitter taste filled her mouth and she jerked her hand from her pocket with a grimace.

  In that moment, she hoped there really was a mage at Bucky's side.

  Because
she planned to tear him apart with her bare hands.

  What made her stop in her tracks, she wasn't sure. Rain hitting the rooftops masked most sound even for her. So she can't say she heard them. Instinct, she thought, as she snatched Melganaderna by her mailshirt and swung the young woman back into the shadows scooped up and pasted across the front of a small warehouse.

  She tested the doors and found them surprisingly unlocked.

  Melganaderna gagged before she did. “Fuck, what's that smell?”

  The elf knew, but didn't say anything. Held her finger up to her lips and slid the door closed just as a small group of twenty or so soldiers trudged out of the dark and made their way through the rain with obvious wariness.

  Neither they, nor the weapons they held drawn in their fists, were illusions.

  They didn't look to have come from the battlefield out front. These looked to be hunting.

  The tallest, carrying a sword which he needed both hands to hold, nodded to both sides of the street. “Okay, boys. Have a good look around. And be careful. You heard what he said.”

  Counting herself lucky for not having stayed in the street, she pressed against the wood, able to see through a small crack as the big man lifted a hand to stop the rain from dribbling down his brow and into his eyes.

  The men drifted apart in small groups, testing the darkness. Probing. A couple moved close to the warehouse.

  They were, she thought, fairly thorough. They checked a few barrels on the other side. Nosed down the alley. When they did, a couple stayed at the mouth of the alley to keep watch. To ensure no one got jumped.

  A tidy search, she thought.

  One which made her nervous as they began jerking open the doors of the surrounding houses.

  She glanced to where Melganaderna had found a peephole of her own and was chewing her upper lip again. The young axewoman looked back at her, feeling the elf's eyes. Silently asking the question. Probably more eager to get out of the thick cloying stench of the warehouse.

  With a quick shake of her head, Nysta returned to looking into the street. But kept her hands on the handles of her knives. Knew she might at any moment be asked another question.

  A question she had only steel to answer with.

  “I think he was full of shit, Markem,” a dark-haired soldier said to the tall one. He held his helm in one hand and sword in the other. Didn't look like he was interested in joining the search. “And I still don't get why we're even listening to him. We should be slitting his throat and dragging him out back somewhere. He's Tainted, ain't he?”

  “You heard Bucky,” Markem said. “You heard what the kid said, too. About the Lord of Light. Don't go making trouble, Fergal.”

  “Yeah yeah.” Fergal put his helm back on, but didn't buckle it off. Probably just wanted to shield his face from the rain. “I'm just saying we're wasting our fucking time. Didn't Belmergan say he would've felt a long-ear in the town by now? He's been making sure no one gets in or out without his knowing. And he knew Willem was here before the bastard made himself known.”

  The elf froze, her guts turning to solid ice.

  Willem.

  A name she was beginning to get more curious about.

  Then she frowned. If their spellslinger was looking for her, how hadn't he found her? Chukshene had said he wasn't as good at scrying as Hemlock was. Maybe this spellslinger wasn't good at it either.

  But what if she got too close? Would he feel her then?

  And how many were waiting in the house now?

  She wanted to smash through the door. Wanted to grab hold of Markem and strangle him. Beat him down into the mud and wrench the answers from his bleeding throat.

  Instead, she forced herself to hold her patience.

  To wait.

  “Want us to check inside?” The voice was louder than she expected, and she almost took a step back which would have no doubt made a noise. “Stripe?”

  Markem spoke coldly. “Told you before, soldier. More than once. We ain't stripes and grunts no more. I'm a sergeant. That's how Rule likes it. We ain't orks. We'll speak a civilised tongue.”

  “Sorry, Sergeant.” Paused. “So, we look inside?”

  “Would you go in there?” Markem sighed, rolling his wide shoulders. “If you want to check, soldier, you go ahead. We'll wait outside.”

  Melganaderna tensed. Eased slightly away from the door, gripping Torment in both mailed fists. The glitter of meagre light shivered off the metal and her breathing quickened slightly. The purple runes pulsed. The elf draped the butt of A Flaw in the Glass and waited, preserving her energy.

  Feeling the tidal wave of violence building inside. The worms darted along her muscle, causing small twitches down her leg and arms.

  The young axewoman flexed her bicep, ready.

  “Don't move.” Nysta mouthed the words, rather than whispered.

  “Fuck that,” the soldier said, moving away from the warehouse. “I ain't going in there if I don't gotta. It was bad enough the first time.”

  Fergal smirked. “Idiot.”

  “Hey, I don't see you going inside.”

  “Okay, you two. Let's keep moving. Fergal, keep your eyes on the rooftops.”

  “I thought Kader and his boys are watching from the wall?”

  “Can you see shit through this rain? Grim's fucking teeth, Fergal, use your brain.” Markem moved further down the street. “They'll be seeing less than we can from up there, I'll bet.”

  As the Wall's former militia kept moving, the elf leaned her forehead against the wooden door and let her breath exhale slowly.

  Melganaderna made to go deeper inside the warehouse, but the elf snatched her arm and shook her head. “You don't want to do that.”

  “Why? What's inside?”

  “Well, like you, I'm just new here. A stranger in this town. But I don't reckon the stink belongs here under normal circumstances. And I figure there's a reason they don't want to come inside. Some fellers get a guilty conscience. Can't face the aftermath of their decisions. Reckon we found where they put the townies. What's left of them.”

  “Oh.” The young axewoman paled a little. “That explains the smell.”

  “Yeah.” She eased the door open a little, allowing crisp air to wash inside. “It ain't good. Smell this bad is usually from a lot of bodies.”

  “Can we go, then?”

  “Give them a little more time. We'll head out and left. Move quickly.”

  “Don't worry. I will. Quicker we get away from this, the better.” She cocked her head, remembering the conversation. “They know we're here. They were waiting for you.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Which means this could be a trap?”

  “Pretty sure it is.”

  “Who's Willem? I saw your eyes when they said his name. You knew him.”

  The elf shrugged. “I don't know him. Not really. Heard his name a few times is all. What I do know about him is he's a dead feller. Just ain't laid down, yet.” She drew her lips back into a humourless grin and headed out into the rain. Quickly. “But I'm working on it.”

  A small hut, probably once used by a few beggars by the smell of it, gave some shelter while they stared at the rear of the large house they figured Bucky would be in.

  The window was wide open, letting the rain spatter inside. Nysta sat in a chair, its legs of different lengths. Leaned back on it with her boots up on the small table made with equally terrible skill.

  Had her fingers steepled under her chin.

  And watched nothing move.

  Melganaderna stood beside the window, draped in one of the shredded curtains. Scanning the street. “No guards patrolling on this side. It looks like they're not expecting trouble.”

  “Looks it.”

  “So, they probably are.”

  “Probably.”

  “I think jumping across on the rooftops is out of the question.”

  Apart from the roof being much higher than those around it, the thought the guards w
ere actively concentrating on the rooftops put paid to that plan. Regardless of how they looked at the others, surely someone would be positioned to watch this one. “Reckon so.”

  “Which only leaves us the option of storming the place.”

  “About what I figured.”

  “Not much of a plan.”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Noisy, too. If everyone's not already inside, it'd bring them inside.” The young woman stifled a yawn. “You even know what Bucky looks like?”

  “Nope. Figure he'll be the one giving orders, though.”

  “He'll be upstairs, too. We'll have to go through whoever's in there.”

  The elf nodded. She couldn't see many options. She could climb the side of the house and enter through any window on the upper floor. But the house was painted a pale cream colour. Like the skin of a dying man. So, even in the rain, she'd be easy to spot.

  This meant the lower level was the only option.

  And they'd need to enter quickly. Fast enough to take anyone by surprise who might see them, and to avoid being seen by anyone watching the house. But, so far, she couldn't see any sign of anyone actually watching it. A small group of five or so kept doing a rhythmic circle around the house, but they were moving like bedraggled refugees and had all the alertness of men whose brains had been soaked in beer.

  Which reminded her how thirsty she was.

  “Fuck it,” she said. “See the window on the far right? It's low enough to go right through without too much trouble. Also, the small tree there kind of hides it from above. Maybe anyone on the wall won't notice.”

  “Maybe?”

  “It's all I got.”

  “It'll have to do.”

  “You should've stayed at the Doomgate.”

  “What was I going to learn there? Magic isn't my thing, Nysta. If I want to lead armies, I need to know more than just the theory. I need to see it work. Not just defences. Most of that's practical. No, it's everything else. Tactical things. Things which change the odds. Things like this.” The young woman's face took on a look of utter determination. “We can do it. The window on the right is the best entry. The one on the left is too high. I'd have to push you through, then I'd make too much noise going in. Also, the door will be barred. Probably barricaded. But there's light coming through the windows, and you can see they're not barred. But they'll be guarded. Probably by magic. Right?”