Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2)

by Lucas Thorn

  The warlock followed suit, trying to peer through the creeping shadows, but couldn’t see anything except the smooth field heading south. Other than the handful of ruined huts, there wasn’t much else to see. He would have mocked her for her paranoia, but in the past few days he’d learnt she never seemed to be wrong when it came to impending violence.

  With a shake of her head, she made an irritated face and motioned for him to sit.

  “Nothing?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Can’t be sure. If there is something, it ain’t ready to show itself yet.”

  “That’s not very comforting,” he mumbled, settling down on a small clump of stones. He dropped his pack and yawned. “You know, now I sit down, I feel it. At first, I couldn’t believe we’d walked all day. It didn’t feel like we’d been climbing so long. But now it does. My legs ache. If I ever stand up again, it’ll be a miracle. And fuck, it’s cold. You want me to make a fire?”

  “Not yet,” she said, her eyes still stabbing at the shadows. “Let’s wait and see what happens first.”

  “You know, if I make it out of here alive, I’m never coming back to the Deadlands as long as I live.”

  “Reckon that’s the smartest thing you ever said, ‘lock.”

  “Fuck you,” he said pleasantly. “Want anything to eat?”

  She shook her head. Trusting her gut, she took a spot by one of the windows. Leaned lightly against the stone wall and waited. Thought she saw a twinkle of light shift along the ground, but couldn’t decide if it was her imagination summoning lights or not.

  “See anything?” he asked.

  “I’ll let you know when to panic, ‘lock.”

  “Yeah, I appreciate that,” he said drily. Watched her closely for a while, then looked down at the grimoire resting on his knees. Brushed his fingers across the cover. Looked back to stare thoughtfully at her silhouette. Wondered what she might have looked like if the streets hadn’t scarred her so horribly. He tapped the old spellbook. And before he had time to think, he found himself talking. “Did I tell you how I got this?”

  The elf glanced at it. Cocked her head. “No. You didn’t.”

  “Was a bastard to get,” he said, looking out through the window. The last smudge of sunset slipped into the dark like the last few drops of blood from a corpse. “Spellbooks like this are rare. Disgustingly rare. Told you, I’m no mage. It’s not how I roll. I’m a warlock. So I needed a different set of spells. You won’t find a book like this in Godsfall, I’ll tell you that. Sure, I had a few basics. Found an old tome in a graveyard outside Doom’s Reach. It was enough for a year or so. But I needed more. You know how it is. Spellslingers can’t be satisfied. So, I started searching. Went through the library of Godsfall from top to fucking cellar. Looking for any kind of clue on where to find one. Found shit. But I heard a rumour. Of all places, from a few friends in a Fighter’s Guild in Hatejaw. They knew a guy. A thief who said he’d found a hidden tomb full of treasure. You know the story. Gold. Gems the size of my balls. That kind of shit. All he managed to get at the time was a handful of coins and a fucking candlestick. But he’d seen a book. Nothing remarkable about that, really. Lots of books in all kinds of tombs. But this was the tomb of a dark mage. One who supposedly summoned demons to defend his Keep before Rule laid waste to it. Catch was, the Keep was the Broken Tower of Grippike Thin. Haunted to fuck it is. And that thief was the only one I’ve ever heard of who made it out alive.”

  “Shouldn’t believe everything a few goons tell you, ‘lock,” she said easily, listening to the wind rustle over the cliff’s jagged ledge.

  “I realise that,” he said. “But I had to take a chance. A book like this to me is like all the knives in the world to you. I got all the way in. Burned up a dozen undead and a few not-so-deads. Had to fight a wight. And that wasn’t easy to kill. Few possessed goblins. They’re why goblins still freak me out. Got to the tomb. Popped it open. Got hold of this here grimoire. Could feel the power in it. Happiest moment of my life until then.”

  “Worked out in the end, I guess.”

  “Not right away. Those friends I mentioned? Well, they were thinking about the treasure, too. Was plenty of it in there, for sure. Enough gold to last a lifetime. But they figured my book would be the icing on their cake. They took me from behind. I still have the scar. Knife. Hurts in cold weather like a bitch.”

  The elf felt a few itches on her back where a couple of scars of her own worked to remind her that trust should never be given too quickly. “Reckon you learnt a lesson, then. Keep an eye on your back.”

  “I did at that,” he snorted. “Thing is, I didn’t die of course. Got lucky. And it took me a while. But I got my revenge. It wasn’t pretty. Ended up there was more to it than just those bastards. Sometimes, I think the knife in the back was the most painless part of the whole thing.”

  “Trying to say something, Chukshene?”

  “Just that this quest of yours, I understand it. But it won’t make you feel better.”

  “Ain’t my first time,” she said. A few stars twinkled in the distance. Bitter thoughts poisoned the crooked line of her mouth. “I’m experienced.”

  “I believe you. But it’s the first time you’ve felt this strong about it. Only happens maybe once in your life. When hate nearly eats you from inside. I know it, Long-ear. I’ve been there. Just giving you some friendly advice is all. Look out for yourself.”

  She nodded slowly, eyes on the stars. “Obliged,” she said. “And I reckon I got some advice for you, ‘lock. Best advice you’re gonna get, too. Fact, it could keep you cool for the rest of your life.”

  Raising an eyebrow, the warlock looked interested. “Sure.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. Growled; “Get down!” And drove herself at the ground, heading for the darkest corner of the hut.

  He scrambled into the opposite corner, struggling to sling his pack off his shoulder while opening his book. “Fuck.”

  “Quiet!” she hissed.

  “What is it?” he whispered back.

  “Lights,” she said, voice low. “Thought they were stars for a second. But stars don’t move like that. Headed this way.”

  “Great.” He looked up at the sky as though pleading with fate to intervene. “I’m loving this.”

  “Tell you something you’ll love even more.”

  “I’m not sure I want to ask.”

  The elf drew Controversial to the End and Thornhill’s Electric Stars. It seemed appropriate. “That chained bastard down there? He was right. There’s lots of the motherfuckers. Dozens. Hundreds, maybe. Too many to fight at any rate.” She grinned, sweat squeezing painfully through the pores under her arms. Like moist pins. “We’re fucked.”

  “How big are they?”

  “Not big. Maybe as big as my fist. But I don’t figure they’re gonna just sparkle at us,” she tensed against the cold stone wall, hearing a low rasp as the swarm drifted closer. “We’re well after twilight, so I reckon there’s more bite to them than that.”

  “I gotta see,” he said, inching toward a large crack in the wall.

  “Careful. Reckon if they see us, we’re dead a whole lot quicker.”

  He squeezed his face against the gap and peered out. “Gravewisps,” he said with a wrinkling of his nose.

  “That good or bad?”

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “How many of them there are. Not unusual to get a couple hanging around old tombs or barrows. Place like this is like a magnet to them. But they’re not too hard to kill. Just hit them with something hard. Me, I’d use a club. You, you could use your head.” He licked his lips and started sifting through the pages of his grimoire. â€
œBut that many of them? You’re right. They’d kill us before we took five steps.”

  She scrubbed at her palm and eyed the warlock with curiosity. His expression was impish in the jagged beams of moonlight slashing across his face. He looked up at her and his smile revealed his gleaming white teeth.

  “Hey, Nysta? You think you can do something to stop them attacking me while I’m casting? Doesn’t have to be much. Just run around making a lot of noise. They’ll like that.”

  The elf gave him a withering look which he endured calmly. “And let them get me, so you can get free?”

  “Sounds like a great idea,” he allowed. “But I had something else in mind. It’s probably the easiest summoning I’ve ever cast, so half a minute is all I need.”

  “Thirty seconds?”

  “Yeah. You can do it. Gravewisps aren’t very fast anyway.”

  She lifted herself slowly to her knees. Looked over the top of the crumbling wall. The sea of bright lights circled the ruins like a school of fish. They moved slowly, like he said. Still. She didn’t think it was going to be as easy as that. “Fuck,” she said.

  “Thanks,” he said airily. “Make sure you stay out of their reach. I need to make a light so I can read this bitch. But, Nysta? Trust me. You’re gonna love it. Truth is, I’ve been looking for a chance to use this one ever since I fucking read it. It’s not something you can unleash in a town, though. Or a city. Or anywhere near anything. It’s not particularly powerful, but it is risky. Too much can go wrong with it. I never saw a use for them before. So an opportunity like this? Once in a fucking lifetime, I reckon. Be ready.”

  “For?”

  His grin grew so wide she thought it might crack his skull open. “Fucked if I know. Just be ready.”

  “Thirty seconds?”

  “Thirty seconds.”

  “Not a second more, Chukshene.”

  Then, without waiting for him to protest, she leapt the wall and darted to her left, away from the swarm. A few splinters of light nudged toward her. The school dragged itself to a halt as though surprised by her presence.

  Summoning the sickly glowing ball of light, the warlock hoped the elf knew what she was doing.

  As soon as the ball of light flared, the elf caught sight of it. Saw, too, the way the swarm turned toward where the warlock was sheltered. Cursing to herself, she angled toward the swarm and shrieked wordlessly.

  Slapped the two blades together sharply.

  Which caused them all to turn toward her as though they were actually a single creature rather than a bloated swarm.

  A light hum drifted on the air and the elf felt a moment’s hesitation as she ran toward them. Hesitation which quickly turned to fear as the lights flashed brighter, drowning the shadows in their sharp glare. The hum turned into a roar and they flooded toward her, a bunched-up ball of blinding light.

  “Ah, fuck,” she growled, spinning away.

  They were quicker than he’d told her. She’d cut his balls off later, she promised.

  She could feel the heat of their lights radiating outward as she dodged into the ruins of another hut. Skipped over the rubble and out the other side. Looked over her shoulder as the swarm enveloped the hut like a wave, buzzing angrily at her heels.

  “Shit. Hurry the fuck up, Chukshene!” she bellowed. Sprinted as fast as she could, leading it in a wide arc around the ruin. “Twenty fucking seconds left!”

  The river of wisps ribboned like mice to a piper. But mice more interested in meat than music.

  A single wisp, faster than the others, streaked out of nowhere. It spat a rain of sparks at her, a few of which snapped into her arm. Yelping in shock, she stumbled, caught herself, and kept running. Her arm was numb and she couldn’t move it. Couldn’t even feel her fingers which still wrapped tightly around Thornhill’s Electric Stars.

  The wisp angled toward her face and she could see the light flare as it prepared to spit more sparks at her. Controversial to the End left her hand like a steel hawk. Soared through air and missed the wisp completely. Hit the stone wall with a clang and clattered across the ground with a shameful glint. A few wisps, drawn to the movement, shot a shower of sparks at the blade which melted and warped easily.

  “Fucking useless,” she growled and ducked as a spray of sparks rained down over her shoulder. “Five seconds, Chukshene!”

  She sprinted toward the nearest wall. Kicked off it to veer sharply to her right, aiming for the hut in which the warlock crouched over his grimoire. She could see his face, tainted by the eerie yellow glow. It was glistening with sweat. Whatever he was casting, she thought grimly, had better be big.

  Real fucking big.

  Hot on her trail, the wave of wisps smashed hard into the wall and seemed to take a moment to recover as a collective before lunging at the fleeing elf.

  Her face was manic as she bore down on the hut. Legs like rubber as she pushed herself faster and faster to keep out of reach of the sparks.

  The glowing swarm screamed behind her, sparks spraying in its wake like burning wings.

  The warlock’s face snapped up.

  He wanted to shout at her. Demand she keep away. He wasn’t ready.

  But he dared not stop casting.

  Not then.

  Not with the glow of magic swirling around him. If he stopped, it would consume him.

  But he couldn’t tell her that.

  Horrified, he watched her leap the window to roll into the hut. Skid to a panting halt in front of him. Tear a grin across her face and announce; “One second!”

  The swarm reared high above the hut, preparing to crash down and smother them in a surging wave of light.

  And, with terror clenching his heart firmly in his throat, he screamed the last word of power.

  Wondered if it worked. He couldn’t feel anything but empty as his magic drained away.

  Had it worked?

  Of course it had.

  Maybe.

  Still, nothing had happened.

  He looked up at the glowing lights. They burned so bright he had to squeeze his eyes shut.

  The spell hadn’t worked. He was going to die.

  “I-”

  His words were cut off by the crack of thunder directly overhead. Thunder which split the sky apart. A ball of fire, hurled from the rip in the sky, tore toward the earth, smashing to the ground in the centre of the ruin.

  The elf threw him down as the blast sent rock and debris flying through the air. A few wisps, caught in the savage explosion, flared brightly and died, falling wetly to the ground.

  The buzzing swarm was rocked backward in the shockwave, before shivering in place as though unsure what to do. But was then drawn once more to the loudest sound - that of dozens of howling creatures emerging from the smoking crater.

  “What the fuck are they?” the elf squinted through the dust.

  The warlock struggled to sit up. Adjusted his robes and pounded his grimoire with a thoroughly ecstatic fist. “Gremlins!”

  Small, nasty, and with needle teeth, they bounded from the ground and hooted hungrily as they caught sight of the incoming swarm. Delighted by the lights, the little demons rushed forward to greet them, swiping at the wisps with shrieks of demented pleasure. Snatching them from the air, they stuffed the glowing wisps into their mouths and snapped their jaws down hard.

  Bright green juice exploded over their lips even as sparks ignited inside their cheeks.

  At first they seemed happy to chew on the wisps, but quickly started clawing at their cheeks as the glowing blood ate into their flesh like acid. Their bellies swelled and their skin melted and twisted before breaking open with ugly bursts which left their guts smoking on the ground, entwined with the glowing blood of dead wisps.

  The elf winced as she caught sight of one gremlin hopping around trying to hold his dissolving jaw closed.

  Dancin
g in an orgy of pain and self-destruction, the rest kept trying to eat every glowing wisp before the acid completely ate through their heads. Even as they fell and lay squirming on the ground, they snatched at the air, drunk on violence and the drive to eat more of the glowing swarm.

  The flurry of movement, howls, and screams worked to keep the swarm of lights whirling around the crazed gremlins and the elf dragged the sniggering warlock to his feet. Shoved him over the closest wall and toward the field, aiming to get as far from the ruins as possible. Heading south.

  “Great spell. I love those guys. I thought they’d last longer, though,” the warlock sighed. “I didn’t expect wisp blood to do that to them.”

  “You should’ve known better,” the elf said with a shrug.

  “How could I?” he scowled. “I’ve never summoned them before.”

  “Gremlins, Chukshene,” she drawled. “Bright lights ain’t good for them.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The last of the wisps flickered and died, but the elf didn’t turn to watch.

  She led the warlock across the smooth stone field which reflected moonlight like pale marble. Her mind turned over the events of the past few days as she tried to focus herself again. The wagoners, brutally put down.

  The ork, Rockjaw, left bleeding. And the Fat Man pursued by Draug. More victims of the Deadlands.

  Gaket, writhing in the cords of darkness fashioned from the very fabric of a long-dead goddess’ soul.

  A cage, opening its fathomless jaws to spill an ocean of shadow into her veins.

  Draug howling for meat.

  The creature with his chains laughing as he contemplated a single word whispered into his ear. The wisps guarding the exit, dying in explosive flashes of light.

  In the few days since Talek’s murder, she’d repaid the Deadlands in kind many times over. But none of it meant anything.

  And what about Fenis? Torak and Neckless? The Twins?

  Sure, they mattered. But not enough. Not enough to satisfy the ache brewing in her heart.

  An ache which wouldn’t go away until Raste bled the last drop of blood from his dead body.