Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2)

Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2) Page 5

by Lucas Thorn

  “No,” he said quietly. “Put it like that, and maybe I haven’t.”

  “Then you ain’t lived. When it’s over. When they’re dead. And you’re standing alone? Your whole core is emptied. Your thoughts can’t string together. Heart beating so fast it’s a mad hum in your ears like a fucking swarm of wasps. It’s the worst thing. And it’s the best thing.” She felt a rush of raw emotion as she spoke. “I ain’t saying it’s the right thing. But when you’ve spent your whole life living like a frightened mouse in a back street doing anything to survive, then being alive when shit goes down is something you just can’t give back. Seems right to keep something to remind you of it.”

  “It’s still fucking gruesome.”

  “Because you don’t know! You ain’t been there. It ain’t about living out the kills. Ain’t about remembering the look in their eyes, or feeling their blood on your face. Ain’t about their pain, their suffering, or the joy of fucking killing. It’s about the feeling. That rush of life you get when you realise you’ve survived something you had no right to survive.”

  “It’s still barbaric,” he said, almost stumbling as his tired legs struggled to keep up with her quickening pace. “You know, we got some awful shit in Doom’s Reach, too. I mean, it’s the biggest fucking city in the world. So it’s gotta have a few more dark alleys full of scum than most, right? And I remember, a few years ago, City Watch caught some guy who’d been cutting up little girls. Little girls. Like, no more than ten years old. You know what kind of killer I’m talking about? The worst kind. Maybe worse than you. I don’t know for sure, because I can’t make up my mind about you. But when they got him, they found he kept pieces of the girls around his neck. On a leather thong. Bits of their flesh. I didn’t think anyone could be so evil. And it doesn’t seem like what you’re doing is any different.”

  The elf rubbed her cheek. “It’s very different, Chukshene. Think about it like this. If one of those kids survived. If she’d managed to kill him instead. And gutted him like a pig. If she cut off his cock and wore it round her neck, I bet you’d think differently.”

  “I doubt it. And you ain’t a little girl, Nysta. Seems you’re more like him. You remember that guy back there? He was the victim here. He couldn’t fight you. Couldn’t stop you. Couldn’t do anything but die.”

  “He died long before I stuck him, ‘lock,” she growled. “Died the second he planted a knife into the only man I ever loved. Just took a while for him to stop breathing was all.”

  “I’m just saying. You ain’t a victim anymore. You’re a killer. That’s it. End of story.”

  “Don’t be so one-eyed,” she said dismissively. “I am what I am.”

  His words didn’t disturb her. There was nothing in them she hadn’t already thought about many times. But when she considered the chasm she’d had to cross from being scared waif to the fighter she’d become, there wasn’t a single thing she’d done which she wouldn’t do again.

  Except, she added silently, kill Raste.

  The warlock nursed his silence for a few minutes before asking; “You ever wonder what happened to the people in Spikewrist? If any might have survived?”

  “Nope. Figure that’s their business. And if you figured it was yours, you’d have gone back to look yourself. This is the Deadlands, Chukshene. Meanest fucking shithole in the world. If they couldn’t defend themselves, they had no right being out here. So don’t pin your fucking guilt on me. I’ve got enough of my own.” Maybe she’d have said more. But something warm brushed the back of her neck and she slapped it.

  There were a lot of insects in the Deadlands. Most of them inactive in the Winter.

  Especially with snow coming like the inevitable tide.

  A frown started to crease her forehead as she looked at her empty hand, but a long wailing howl split her thoughts as though with an axe.

  A hideous sound. Defiant and hungry.

  Others quickly answered it.

  The warlock froze mid-step. “If I ask what that is, am I going to regret it?”

  “Depends.” She spat her disgust onto a patch of snow at her feet.

  “On?”

  “If you like Draug.”

  “Really?” Chukshene paled. “I think I’d prefer goblins.”

  She knew his mind was filling with the fear of being eaten alive. Knew also he had no energy left to cast even the simplest spell. That they’d have only her blades to rely on. And their legs.

  “Relax.” She moved faster. Headed toward the ruins as shadows flickered between the trees like arrows. “We can make it. We can’t fight them out here. We’ll find somewhere in there to hole up in until they move on. They ain’t got the brains to stick around. Draug give up easy.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  “Every man has the right to make choices about his life,” she said, suddenly philosophical.

  “What choice? To be eaten alive, or eaten dead?”

  “That’s one,” she allowed easily. Curled her lip into a crooked smile which twisted the scar on her cheek. “But I reckon you’re about old enough to know how to say no to Draugs.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The barking howls of undead Draug combined hideously into an orchestra of bloodlust. She could see their twisted shadows as they skittered from the trees to dance among the massive boulders. Their excitement chilled her to the bone as fear clutched an icy hand around her spine.

  The warlock bounced off a boulder as they ran. “Fuck,” he swore, rubbing his shoulder as he tried to keep upright. “Nysta. They’re gaining. I thought you said they were slow!”

  They are, Chukshene,” she said, gliding over the terrain in a way that made the warlock think of running water. He turned his lip jealously as she glanced at him. Grinning, the elf finished mildly; “But so are you.”

  “Slow? Me?” His voice rose sharply as terror and outrage competed for equal footing. Outrage won, for now. “Bullshit, slow! I’ll tell you, Long-ear, when I was an apprentice, I out-fucking-ran orks! I’d race those greenskinned fuckers all over Doom’s Reach. Any time! And I never fucking lost. So you can stick your slow up your skinny fucking ass! Fuck you. I’m slow? I’m faster than fuck.”

  “What happened since then, Chukshene?” The elf leapt nimbly onto a large chunk of stone almost as tall as she was. Pulling herself up, she shot the panting warlock an amused look. “Let me guess. You took an arrow to the knee?”

  “What?” He reeled forward, almost drunkenly. Winced and leaned hard against the stone, sweat dripping down his face. His tone was miserable. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m fit. Fast. I can fucking outrun anything. Anything, I tell you. Just give me a minute. Catch my breath. Just one fucking minute. Shit, I’ve been running for weeks. Months, maybe.”

  She felt her heart race as more shadows flickered in the distance.

  Ten. Twenty? Thirty?

  Fucking fifty, for all she knew. Too many to count.

  Too many to kill?

  The sharp tip of her tongue dragged over the top of her lip as she dropped her hand to A Flaw in the Glass. Was there such a thing as too many to kill?

  But these were Draug, she reminded herself. It was impossible to kill undead with normal blades.

  Well. Almost impossible.

  Something deep inside her considered the challenge.

  Grinning at the madness of the thought, the elf dropped next to the warlock and slapped a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve got to go, Chukshene. Now. Run, or be killed. Your choice.”

  His face was haggard and his expression haunted as he looked up. His eyes watered, unable to focus properly. “I can’t. Nysta, I’m fucked.”

  Her fist took him clean on the cheek and he was thrown back, sprawling over the hard stone ground. It wasn’
t a heavy punch. Just enough to get his attention.

  It worked.

  Clutching his cheek, the warlock shot her a surprised look. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

  “Wake you up.” She bared her teeth and ran her fingers through her hair, feeling the pressure of time squeezing in on her. “Look, Chukshene, I know you’re tired. I know you reckon you can’t go on. You want to just sit here. Want to make a stand right here. But I’m telling you, we can’t. This ain’t the place. And if you think I’ll stay out here and die for you, you’re wrong. So you get the fuck up right now, and you run. You run until your fucking heart explodes in your chest. And then you get up and you fucking run some more. Because if you don’t, you’re a dead fuck. And there ain’t nothing I can do to save you. You listening, Chukshene? You get the fuck up right now. You hear me? Right fucking now.”

  He massaged his cheek, fresh blood moist between his fingers. His expression was hurt, but slowly he nodded as reality swamped hysteria. Pulled himself to his feet, shoulders slumped. “I hear. And I’m sorry. I must look like a weak shit to you.”

  The elf felt a brief stab of guilt as she remembered his reason for not sleeping was to watch over her. But she had no choice but to urge him on. “Tell you what’s worse.”

  “What?”

  “Those fellers there.” She pointed a finger to where a figure lurched into view. Too far to be an immediate threat, it was nonetheless more solid than the spidery shadows still darting between the rocks further away. It wore rags for clothes. And its flesh, even from this distance, looked rancid and peeling.

  It howled as it caught sight of them. Slapped its stomach and headed toward them. A few more rolled out of the shadows on gnarled legs and followed in the same crooked gait.

  “Grim’s mouldy fucking blistered cock! Move! Move! Come on, Long-ear!” He pushed past her, suddenly filled with the kind of energy that only comes when a heart is filled with horror. His robe flapped wildly. He looked, she thought, like a bat leaving the Shadowed Halls.

  “Took the words right out of my mouth,” she murmured, skirting a large boulder and sprinting ahead.

  More hoots erupted from their right, and the elf caught sight of more Draug spilling onto the plain. An army of them. They moved with the morbid gracelessness of the undead. Their bodies twisted like spastic puppets. But puppets with sharp claws and savage teeth.

  Scrambling faster as they caught sight of the desperate pair, the Draug possessed no plan short of using their overwhelming numbers of rabid mouths. A simple tactic, but brutally effective.

  A Flaw in the Glass hummed as she spun it in her fingers. Sprinting ahead, she ignored the warlock’s cry for her stay close. Instead, sped forward, scouting the dark places between several massive boulders crumbling against each other.

  Slowing only when she was certain there was nothing haunting the immediate area, she tried to push her fear of the approaching Draug aside and keep herself focussed on reaching the ruined fortress in the distance.

  Hoped that it was more or less intact and that somewhere inside the buckled walls was a building they could barricade themselves in.

  But the adrenaline pumping through her veins wasn’t working in anticipation of a happy ending to the night, so she felt the thrill of danger take her to within a splinter of going berserk. She wiped sweat from her face and worked spit into her dry mouth.

  Spat at her feet as the warlock nearly barrelled into her.

  “Can we kill them?” He grabbed her shoulder to hold himself up. Grabbed loud mouthfuls of air.

  Allowing him the chance to catch his breath, she shook her head. “Can’t kill Draug.”

  “What?”

  “They’re already dead. Reckoned you would’ve known that, ‘lock. Ain’t undead your speciality?”

  “Demons,” he whined. “I know about demons. There’s a difference. Fucking undead? Simple. Just burn them. Got to burn them.”

  “Fine. Spin us up some fireballs. You’ll only need a few dozen, I figure. Couple hundred at most.”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “Then best we get to the fortress. It’s all we’ve got. Stop them from swamping us, and we’ll be fine. They give up quick if we ain’t taunting them.”

  “Taunting them? What the fuck? How the fuck am I taunting them? I didn’t say anything about their mothers! Not a fucking thing.” He screwed his face up. Looked far beyond exhausted. “Do they even have mothers?”

  “You’re taunting them by being alive, Chukshene. And not being in their stomachs.” Then, allowing she wasn’t one for stirring motivational speeches, she aimed a kick at his ass and shoved him in the back. “So lift that fucking skirt and keep running!”

  “Bitch!” His scowl creased his face like a bolt of lightning.

  “Save your breath!”

  “How far?”

  She peered ahead, eyes squinting through the mist which seemed to thicken around the walls. Thin curls of mist were hovering around some of the rocks and boulders, making any guess of the distance uncertain. But she reckoned they were close.

  “Not far,” she decided. “Few minutes.”

  “And how close,” his breath came in jagged gasps. “Are they?”

  “Not far,” she said. A curtain of mist loomed in front of her nose. She was struck by its resemblance to a spider’s web. But pushed her fears aside. It was just mist, she told herself. It was going to be wet and cold. That’s all. She forced a grin. “Few minutes.”

  “Shit.”

  The grin left her face as she entered the mist. Wisps chilled her skin and she sucked a gasp as the acrid stink made her skid to a panicked stop. Settling into a defensive stance, she jerked the blade sharply in front of her face to guard against any sudden attack.

  An attack which didn’t come, but which the elf could swear she could taste like a vibration in the air.

  The warlock stumbled, nearly bumping into her. “What now?” he moaned.

  “Can’t you smell it?” she hissed.

  “Smell what?”

  “Magic!”

  “Is it?” He lifted his head. Sweat gleamed like a second skin across his face. His nose had turned pink. He brushed her aside with a snort and continued forward. “Nothing. Just a harmless enchantment. Whoever put it here liked a misty home, maybe.”

  “I don’t like it,” she scowled.

  “Then hold your fucking breath.” He took a few steps, shuddering visibly as another howl ripped through the air. Glanced at her. “You coming? Or staying here?”

  Diving further into the mist with a growl, she felt it drift around her like a wave of spirits reaching for her face. Though they had no power to hold her, they still ignited ominous shivers between her shoulders.

  And the smell of magic was so bitter it threatened to scorch her nostrils and make her brain bleed.

  Looming out of the frost-dusted boulders, the old fortress looked like the collapsed bones of an ancient beast. The walls, while crumpled, were still mostly intact.

  They’d have a hard time climbing them, so would need to hope the gates weren’t as closed as they looked. Deep vertical scars sliced up the stone as though something had been raking at the outer face of the outer walls with massive claws. But she knew of no beast with claws so large, so dismissed that thought as fantasy.

  A thick crack split the ground around around the edge like an empty moat. A moat too thin to be effective, so she couldn’t fathom its purpose and didn’t have time to study it before they jumped easily across.

  Her eyes narrowed as the elf felt a chill slice up from the depths of both the eerie hole in the ground and the frozen ball of fear in her gut.

  Creasing her brow, Nysta scratched at the palm of her hand and pressed her hand against the overwhelmingl
y large rusted gates. She didn’t think the old iron smell was just from the gates. Broken bones were crushed hard into the ground all around gates. A lot of blood, then, had been spilled here.

  The Gates themselves had long since twisted off their massive hinges, but still remained firmly in place. At first there seemed no way through. But then they noticed where the gates met, the ancient metal had been warped by relentless force. It wasn’t much, but there was a small gap.

  A gap through which the warlock grunted as he tried to press himself between.

  Fuelled by desperation to escape the Draug, the warlock’s teeth chattered in fear. His robe tore on a sharp edge of metal. A curse blew out through his lips, but he still kept trying to shove himself inside.

  Irritated, she raised her boot and stamped on his hip to push him inside. Ignoring his startled cry, she threw a glance over her shoulder. Saw the Draug had stopped just outside the curtain of mist.

  Some clawed at the ground in frustration.

  Others paced the edges like prowling cats. Their mournful howls were channelled in her direction.

  Fear rippled across her flesh like a wave of insects. Snatching the warlock’s robe, she made to pull him back out. But he wriggled loose and rolled out the other side. Let out a yelp of triumph before sticking his face back into the gap between the gates. Shoved his hand out for her to grasp, intending to help her through. “What are you waiting for?” he cried. “Get the fuck in here!”

  “They’re not following,” she breathed, not taking his offered hand. Her violet eyes flashed as a dull noise rumbled deep below their feet.

  “What?” he yelled, his voice sounded hollow.

  “I said they’re not following us anymore!” She shouted back. “They’re just standing there!”

 

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