The Wall of Darkest Shadow (Nysta Book 5)

by Lucas Thorn

  Kickleg was the first to cheer. “Kill everyone!”

  “You sure this is a good idea, Nysta?” Melganaderna lifted her axe as the goblins continued to chant and dance around each other with their goblinknives hacking the air. “I don't think they're predictable and you don't strike me as a particularly good ambassador.”

  The elf shrugged as Tophead pressed the crystal wand to the wall and muttered at it to open.

  The stone rumbled with a low growl as it wrenched itself apart to show a room full of shocked-looking orks. Orks whose red eyes boiled as they caught sight of the goblins.

  “I reckon I needed a job sooner or later,” the elf said. “Qualified or not, I just took the first opening is all.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Chaos.

  Orks pulled hammers, axes and swords into their giant hands. Goblins shouted and screamed. Goblinknives waving above their heads. Froglike bodies hopping from one leg to the other.

  Lips drawn back in savage grins.

  “Kill everyone!”

  The elf stepped through the narrow doorway, A Flaw in the Glass flaring brightly in her hand. Just behind her, Melganaderna wove a casual circle in the air with the oversized axe. The twin crescent blades flickered with wicked purple light.

  Blood dripped from the bag on Nysta's hip. And there was no mistaking the look of murder in her eyes as she faced the orks.

  “Ain't here to kill you fellers,” she said evenly, trying for the upper hand. “Here to deliver a head to Asa. Bucky's head. Goblins are with me. And we're walking through that door there and I'm finishing the job I promised I'd do, because it's been a long night and I just decided that I keep all my promises no matter what. Now, you're all in my way. You want to stay alive, best you get out of it.”

  “It's her,” one blurted. “She's the one who was with Jagtooth.”

  “Get Jagtooth down here,” another snarled. “I don't believe her. She ain't going near the princess until I got an okay.”

  “Okay,” a voice said wryly. “There. Satisfied? Now everybody sit the fuck down and let her through. And her little friends. Grim's balls, Nysta, you really like to piss people off, don't you?”

  Nysta hadn't seen Chukshene enter, but the warlock had changed a little since she'd last seen him. He was now dressed in simple black pants and shirt, both of which once belonged to one of the defenders so it was slightly too big. He'd shaved and trimmed his hair. Washed, too.

  Slept.

  A lot.

  She scowled at him, feeling exhaustion creeping toward her.

  The wide windows in the guardroom showed hints of morning light and she couldn't believe she'd been gone this long. As though echoing her thought, Melganaderna yawned.

  It was an old ork who broke the wary silence brought on by Chukshene's amusement.

  “Alright, children,” he barked to the others. “Back the fuck down.”

  “But, they're goblins. They killed Ripefoot.”

  The old ork, wiry grey hair thrusting awkwardly from under his helm, just sneered. “Then that's his fault, ain't it? Any fucking idiot should know if you see a bunch of fucking goblins and you ain't got a mate or two with you, that you fucking run like the fucking Shadowed Halls have opened on your fucking head. Ain't their fault Ripefoot's brain was mush.”

  “Not our fault,” Kickleg confirmed.

  Stingnose patted one of his pouches. “His ear taste funny, too.”

  “Shit,” someone said. But the orks moved back as far as their dignity would allow, which wasn't much, and lowered their weapons.

  Chukshene took that as sign to wander in and had to consciously stop himself from reaching out to grab Nysta's arm. Smiled instead. Said; “Come on. She's waiting. Vuk's there, too, so we can get started right away.”

  “It better be fucking worth it, 'lock,” she said.

  He smirked. “Nysta, you have no idea. But what you'll see today is going to change the Fnordic Lands forever. You'll see. It's a new age.” He paused as they left the room and the warm looks of the suspicious orks. “Our age. Hemlock and I are going to change everything.”

  Sighing, the elf rubbed at the scar on her cheek as the goblins rustled around her, careful to avoid touching her. They looked prepared to defend her from anything. “Sounds old,” she said.

  “No. Not at all. It's young. Powerful.” He licked his lips and hugged his grimoire tight. “And independently dangerous.”

  Melganaderna followed up the rear. Had to raise her voice to be heard over goblin chatter. “Did Bucky's men attack yet?”

  “Once or twice,” he said. “Tough fights, and we've lost a lot. Right now, we're holding our own. But their cleric's getting bolder. I think he's enjoying being in charge. At least, I hope he is.”

  “Odd thing to say,” the young axewoman said.

  “Not really.” The warlock's voice was bland. “Every man deserves a moment of happiness before he dies.”

  “You don't care that they're your people?”

  “Not anymore, they're not.” He strode quickly toward the end of another corridor. Corridors the elf was getting sick of. She wanted open air. Alleys and streets. Somewhere which didn't smell of old magic and new sweat. Away from the tainted ooze which seemed to excite the shadowy worms inside her body. Pausing in front of a doorway, he turned to the young axewoman. “I don't know what it's like in Cornelia, but here we look after our own. We were a broken people when Grim found us. Rule wanted us all dead, and the Dark Lord protected us. He gave us more than our lives. In building an empire, he gave us pride. What Bucky was trying to do was take all that away. Well, I won't have it. I won't.”

  The elf was surprised by the venom in the warlock's voice. There was no talk of running away. No sense of caution. If anything, he looked more determined to face the leftovers of Bucky's army. She wasn't sure how he'd react when he found out they were mostly insubstantial ghosts created by a mage's illusion.

  But Melganaderna seemed oddly satisfied by his words. “I understand more than you know, Chukshene.”

  The Imperial Princess Asa suddenly swooped in from the shadows of the room, yellow eyes shining bright as she seemed to soar across the ground toward the elf. Again, the elf was struck by the small woman's apparent fragility, but felt the back of her throat tighten as the look in Asa's eyes bordered on feral.

  “You have it! You do. I can smell the blood of the traitor on you.”

  Nysta tugged the sack free of her hip and held it out as she entered the room. “Weren't as hard as it should've been,” she said. “There ain't as many men left as you think. Most are just illusions.”

  “Illusions? What do you mean?”

  “Their mage created them to make it look like they were a bigger force than they are. They still outnumber you, but you've probably been fighting everyone who's left.”

  “If he made that many illusions, then he's dangerous,” Chukshene said. “Please tell me you gutted him and ate his entrails.”

  She shook her head. “He ain't even there, 'lock. Looks like he quit. In fact, a lot of Bucky's best people left before I got there. His name's Belmergan, if that means anything to you. Feller named Willem took off with him. You might want to find that one. Unless I find him first.”

  “Willem?” Asa's voice purred thoughtfully over the name. “I do not know this person. He is someone new.”

  “An elf,” she confirmed. “Seems to be he's working for Rule. Came over the Bloods with a couple of Grey Jackets and a cleric. Name of Hyrax.”

  Asa hissed. “Another cleric! There are too many clerics getting into our lands. This must stop.”

  “You don't have to worry about Hyrax. He didn't make it,” she said. “On account of getting dead.”

  The young-looking princess studied the elf with a smile growing mischievously across her face. She waved at the elf. “Come. Come this way, Nysta. Let me show you what your friends have been working with. Let me show you why you have risked your life for me. And you, Melgana. Your lov
er has been greatly distracted by your disappearance. No doubt he'll be pleased to see you. Goblins, too, come. I bear you no malice, Friends of Eventide. Be welcome. You have no doubt assisted in this task.”

  At the back of the room, a wide staircase led down into a massive hall. Larger than any the elf had ever seen, and she'd seen some impressive halls. Lit by muted lights throbbing between the stone blocks, the hall was almost empty. Smooth stone tiles were lined crisp across the floor. A ceiling which might once have been clean and neatly carved with ancient runes now oozed black slime which dripped into thick puddles. A line of pillars along either side of the hall.

  The purpose of the hall might have been a mystery. Could've been for entertainment.

  But the massive black throne seated at the end spoke volumes. A throne of obsidian, gleaming at her like a fractured pupil.

  Watching.

  Screaming that this place was a place of power. Where a god once wielded the secrets of the Wall.

  The shadows inside her own body froze, responding perhaps to the sight of it.

  “It's like that other place,” Melganaderna said. “Just like it. Remember the throne there? It was almost exactly the same. Shit, I can almost hear Gul'Se's screams.”

  Nysta nodded as they followed Asa, who moved elegantly across the floor. So smooth were her movements that the imperial princess looked as if she was gliding.

  Behind them, the goblins trotted nervously.

  They whispered to each other, which made the elf more nervous. Goblins never whispered. They usually didn't care what anyone heard.

  Hemlock crouched beside the throne, grimoire seated on a small table. Black tendrils waved sluggish in the air from the open pages, reaching for their master's touch. Candles dribbled wax off the table's edge and his face was pale in the warm glow.

  Glittering on the floor, dozens of necromantic and demonic symbols had been carved into the stone. Each joined to the next by threads of magic so strong even Rule would shiver. Runes, smoky and black, etched into the ground beside them. Green light flickered and danced beneath it all as though something fey and volcanic bubbled beneath the surface and was trying to escape.

  Small bowls were aligned at regular intervals. Each containing ingredients more exotic than she could guess.

  A brazier nearby burned a bitter oil.

  Stink of brimstone. Of burning bone. Ash.

  And the acrid smell of magic wove through it all, forcing the elf to squint through watering eyes as she approached.

  On the other side of the throne, a man cloaked in thick robes, sat on the steps which led to its foot. Hood drawn over his head. Wounded, by the way he sat, head lolling to one side. One arm clutching his ribs. The other holding his robes close about his body.

  The Keeper, she figured.

  Deathpriest.

  A slim woman in mottled leathers stood behind the deathpriest, one hand on a dagger at her hip. To her right, Jagtooth squatted with his hammers on the ground in front of him. The big ork rolled his shoulders and looked up, red eyes following their every move. They squinted to slits when he saw the goblins, but he made no move to snatch up his weapons.

  Chukshene skipped up beside Nysta, tapping the cover of his book with one finger. “This place is incredible, Nysta. Incredible. It's no wonder they don't let mages inside. If the Tower knew what was in here, they'd tear it down themselves. To loot it, or cleanse it, who can be sure? What I know is we're going to unleash something Vuk says hasn't been released since the Great Wall was made.” He pointed ahead. “See the throne? It amplifies our magic. It works like a focus, in a way. I can't explain it to you very well. I don't know how. But it funnels everything through the Wall itself. Vuk says it can take our spells and warp them. Make them something greater. When I was laying out my part of this thing, I could feel it. Feel it amplifying everything.”

  “You're drooling, 'lock.”

  “How can I not? Grim's teeth, this is fucking amazing.” He licked his lips. “With this, I could cast mage spells. Hemlock's spells. Any spell I wanted.”

  “You see things with a young man's eyes, Chukshene,” the deathpriest rasped. His voice was dry and brittle, but carried through the hall. He lifted his head, and the elf still couldn't make out his features as the shadows broiled within the hood. Only two bright pinpoints of green which served as eyes peered back at them. “You do not see the chaos. The lack of control. All you see is the power. It is why I have chosen Hemlock to take the seat.”

  The warlock sighed. Held out one hand, palm upward. “I think you misunderstand me, deathpriest.”

  “Do I? When the mage known as Lornx built the ground on which you stand, he knew the terrible power of this device. The Dark Lord himself knew it was beyond even him to use. But they built it together because they knew one day it would be needed. Needed to perhaps destroy a god.” The deathpriest shivered. “Not to make a new one.”

  “I don't want to be a god,” Chukshene scowled. “I hate gods. In fact, I can't fucking stand them. They always tell everyone what to do. And their gifts are never what they seem to be. You should know that better than anyone. Look at you. He broke you.”

  “Broke me?” The deathpriest's head jerked up higher and his hood fell away to reveal a hairless skull covered in a thin veil of dry skin. Skin as dry as paper. Torn in some places to reveal pale bone. He spread his arms wide, opening the front of his robe and showing his torso was little more than scraps of flesh covering his ribcage. Below this, his spine gleamed white. It looked like someone had scooped out his insides. His organs. His guts. Everything. Leaving only bones. Replacing his innards, a bubbling ball of green light boiled in his belly like acid. Churning volcanic. His eye sockets were lidless and completely black, but an orb of green burned in the depths of each pit. The exposed teeth grinned at them and he worked his jaw before continuing through tattered lips. “Do I look broken to you, dabbler of demons? Do I? Your perception is shallow if you believe it is so. I am not broken. I am made.”

  Chukshene snorted, unimpressed. “You are dying.”

  The deathpriest sucked air between his teeth to draw a reptilian hiss. “How little you understand death.”

  “Apprentice,” Asa's voice whipped between them. “How dare you speak to Vuk like that. You will apologise immediately. I'll hear these words from your tongue or Jagtooth will cut it from your head.”

  Chukshene blinked.

  The ork smirked.

  “I'm sorry, Vuk,” the warlock said, managing to sound a little sincere. Not much. “I took offence and reacted.”

  The deathpriest waved a bony hand. “I enjoy our conversations more than you think, dabbler. More than you know. One day, perhaps you will remember these moments with more fondness. For now, I accept your frustration. It is, as I said, that you see things with the eyes of a young man. And with a young man's impatience. One day, you will seat this throne. I know this. I believe you know this, too. You crave it to be now. Your passion for the Fnordic Lands rules your heart. You yearn to be its saviour. Bleed to be its hero. I tell you, Chukshene, it is not your time. You still have much to learn before you risk losing control of a power you know very little about. Admit this in your mind, even if you cannot in your heart.”

  Chukshene stood wordless beside the elf, a frown playing at his brow. When he lowered his arms, he looked more thoughtful than before. Less excited.

  But still determined.

  He nodded to the deathpriest, then stepped aside.

  “It big chair,” Deadeye said suddenly, her voice echoing in the hall. She took a half-step forward. “It have quiet eye.”

  “I see eye,” Tophead said. “You see eye, Kickleg?”

  Kickleg shook her head. “Me not want to see eye. Me already have bad dreams for Stingnose's dirty teeth.”

  “Hey! Me not have dirty teeth. Me clean every day.”

  Dimrod leaned against one of the pillars. “You have dirty teeth.”

  “Anyone else hear song?” Kickleg lifted
her head, trying to listen harder. “It pretty song, maybe.”

  “Maybe we leave Big Wall soon,” Stingnose said. “Not good to hear crazy wall sound.”

  “When we leave, will I remember songs?”

  Ignoring the chattering goblins, Tophead patted Deadeye's shoulder and pressed the crystal wand into her hand. Thrust his jaw toward the deathpriest. “You go. Give back magic stick.”

  “Why me go? He look creepy. Maybe smell bad.”

  “You act like leader,” he said. “Me old. Me take day off.”

  She pressed a fist to her eye and moaned. “Why everyone fuck with me today?”

  “Because you best there is,” Stingnose called, triggering a round of giggles from the other goblins. Even Nysta's mouth twitched as the young goblin stomped ahead, her face lit with fury.

  She stamped up the stairs one at a time until she stood before the deathpriest. Thrust out her hand and showed the crystal wand. “Eventide say this not goblin treasure. He say me give back to creepy man. Here. You take it. Me not want it anyway. Big Wall stupid and not work. It broken.”

  “Yes,” the deathpriest said, taking the wand with a reverent gesture. He bowed his head to the young goblin. “Yes, it is broken. But I feel it will be whole again, soon. You have done well. No doubt Eventide will remind the world you are the best there is.”

  “We Wallrats,” Deadeye sniffed. “World already know we best there is.”

  Asa watched, her eyes suddenly dangerous. “Vuk, is that what I think it is? That's your key. You gave your key to these goblins?”

  He tucked it into his robe and might have smiled if he had the lips for it. “The Wall must always be safe. I simply found some guards to reinforce it during my time of weakness.”

  “I lost some good friends, deathpriest,” Jagtooth said.

  “I was not sure who could be trusted,” Vuk said. “It was never as simple as orks and men. Ask the Child of Veil who stands before you. She has seen even her own kind turn to the Lord of Light. And more than one ork has made the journey south this past few years. The throne is not the only weapon stored within the Wall. There were not enough of us to guard even the Doomgate, let alone the many halls if it had remained open. And I have not been strong enough to watch the Ways. Should one of us be a traitor, all they would need to do is slip away. And you might very well ask yourself why some did. You were all told not to explore. The goblins could be trusted. Eventide knew the Doomgate must stay closed. And he ensured the Wallrats have fought with single-minded purpose just for that.”