Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2)

Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2) Page 20

by Lucas Thorn

  The red-haired elf avoided her steady gaze and she found herself reacting to his uncanny resemblance to their father. She clearly recalled the moment she’d changed her mind. When she’d felt confused by both his similarity to the man who’d discarded her like garbage into the street, and by the innocence which made him fear the shadowy hand wrapped around his neck while pressing a knife to his throat.

  Feeling him tremble had made her feel powerful.

  And ashamed.

  Those feelings coursed through her blood again. She’d wanted so much to kill him. Yet, couldn’t fight the knowledge he was still her brother.

  Half-brother, she reminded herself. As if it made a difference.

  Her jaw tightened as she also reminded herself this was the man who’d murdered Talek.

  As though intimate with her thoughts, Raste licked his lips nervously and his fingertips brushed the handle of the long dagger. He finally let his breath ease out slowly as he said; “We don’t have to do this, Nysta. What happened to Talek was an accident. I didn’t mean for it to happen. But Fenis? He couldn’t keep his cool. Your man pushed him too far. We’d have left him alive. All he had to do was give me the box he had. That’s all.”

  “The box? Little thing with black runes on it?”

  “Yeah.” His eyes narrowed shrewdly. “You know of it?”

  “I’ve seen it.”

  “You know what it is? What it can do?”

  She shrugged, feeling the muscles like frozen wires over her shoulders. “He never spoke of it much. And I never gave a shit about it. It’s just a fucking box.”

  You’re wrong, Nysta. It’s not just a box. Rule would give a lot to have it, Nysta. More than a lot.” He leaned forward, speaking in earnest. “You know he wants us dead? All elfs. We’re Tainted, you see. Our blood. It ain’t pure, like humans. We’re the leftovers of what was here before. Humans, they’re the chosen ones. And they’ll be the ones to survive all of this. Elfs. Orks. Trolls. Shit, even the giants. All will be pressed against the northern ice eventually. And all will die by the Lord of Light’s hand. It has to happen, Nysta. To cleanse the world. And you can’t fight that. With the Dark Lord dead, there’s no one to stand up to him. So we must adapt. We must change. I know you think I’m a traitor for saying it, but all I want to do is save our people. Rule has already accepted some of us. Those of us willing to make the sacrifice. Accept that, and be forgiven. Or die. That’s the only choice left to our people, Nysta. Right now, we ain’t trusted by anyone in the Four Kingdoms. We’ve got no power except what Rule lets us have. But with the box, I can make a difference. I might be able to show him we’re not what he thinks we are. Not what the Dark Lord made us. That we can be devoted to him. Think about it. Thousands, maybe more, saved. And all it would take is that box. That one little box. So, if you know where it is, please. You have to tell me!”

  Without a word, she dug her hand into her pocket and tossed it on the ground between them.

  His eyes widened impossibly wide and he started forward, but froze as her hand fisted around Go With My Blessing with lightning speed. She didn’t think she could draw and throw, though. Her arm hurt a lot. But he couldn’t know that. She let her lip curl slightly toward the scar and shook her head as though admonishing a child. Clicked her tongue. “Now now, Raste. Not so fast.” She slowly released her grip as he crouched back down on his haunches, eyes narrowing to slits as he understood. “If you want it, you’re going have to work for it.”

  “There’s more going on here than just you and me,” he said irritably. “I know you’re pissed for what our father did to you. Maybe you got good cause, too. But that’s between you and him. This is more important than all that bullshit. Can’t you see that? It’s the future of our people.”

  “Not to me it ain’t, Raste. And you know it. It’s about Talek. My husband. Remember him? Only man I ever cared for. And you put a hole in his chest and left him on the porch for me to find.”

  “Oh, cry me a fucking river. Fuck! You’re so fucking pathetic, Nysta. Aren’t you even a little ashamed of how fucking screwed up you are? Talek was already dead. Even he said so. He wouldn’t tell me shit about that box. And you know why? Because he wanted to die. He all but begged us to kill him. Shit, Nysta. This is all so fucking pointless. Can’t you see how much bigger this is? With that box, I can save lives. Besides, haven’t you already had your fill of blood? You already got Fenis. He was the one who cut up your man. Quit being a selfish fucking bitch and give it up!”

  She felt another rush of emotion at his words, knowing in her heart they were true. Not about the box. But about Talek wanting to die. “Of course he wanted to die,” she breathed. “He figured it would set me free. He wanted to let me go. He thought I didn’t love him anymore.”

  “If you ever did at all,” the red-haired elf glowered. “You don’t fool me. You lived on the street too long. Even if it’s true that those raghead motherfuckers accepted you. Nysta, inside, you’re still just a whore. And like all whores, you ain’t got no heart. Closest thing you got to a heart is the purse you keep your fucking coppers in.”

  She nearly killed him there and then.

  Knew she could.

  But something made her hesitate. She thought of the creature which had buried itself in the heart of a fortress in the shadows of the coldest corner of the Deadlands. Thought of the chains which had bound it, snaking between its ribs and around its heart.

  And she felt those chains herself. Chains which had been formed at birth. No matter how she tried to deny the tug and pull, she could feel them as strong as she’d felt them the day she burned her father’s Hold to the ground.

  Raste shared her blood.

  So, she waited.

  “Hope you’ve got a heart, though, Raste,” she said slowly. “Big one, too.”

  He wrinkled his brow, eyes glancing at the box, then back at her. “Why? You think I’ll forgive you now? Think I’ll cry for you, sister?” He gave her a disgusted look. “Well, I won’t. Good riddance, I reckon. Another whore gone where she belongs. You got here easy so far. But don’t think you can kill me as easily as the others. Because when you left me alive, you made the biggest fucking mistake of your life. I swore that would never happen again. And I’ve practised. I can throw this knife right through your fucking eye. I don’t miss anymore. I was trained by the best. The Jukkala know their shit when it comes to knives, don’t they? But I went beyond them. I took this thing to war. And I duelled on the streets, too. And beat the best of all of them. So I know I’m faster than you. When I kill you, and I will, I’m gonna spit on your corpse and leave you here for the fucking Draug. So, fuck you. For you, you Tainted bitch, I ain’t got a heart at all.”

  “We’ll find out how good you are in a minute, Raste. But that ain’t what I meant.” She scratched her palm, her gaze drifting lazily over the hidden shadows beyond the trees. “Just my fingers are cold. And my shoulder’s still bleeding. Might not be as accurate as I was yesterday. Could use a big target is all.”

  He let loose a snarl as he shot to his feet. “Then let’s get this done, sister. No more fucking around.”

  Nysta rose unsteadily, right arm hanging limp and useless. Her fingers curled painfully, refusing to move. The wound slicing down her back from the fight in the inn throbbed and burned. A spark of agony zigzagged across her back and shoulders.

  Bruises, like apples in her flesh, sent more subtle waves of pain washing over her body. A body she’d pushed far beyond its limit.

  Couldn’t stop the gasp of pain emerging from her throat.

  “Didn’t think this through, did you?” He smirked.

  She lifted her head slowly to face him. Knew she looked like shit. Which was kind of funny, because she felt like shit, too.

  His stance was loose and some of the tension left his shoulders as he watched h
er struggle to stay upright. Yet, despite the confidence, he still couldn’t keep his eyes from flicking toward the shadows pressing against the dead trees around them. “I’ll give you a chance, Nysta,” he said. “Just one. Leave the box. Piss off while you can. Call it pity for all those years you spent sucking cocks on the street.”

  “Weren’t that bad,” she countered, swaying on her feet. Rolled her aching shoulder, feeling the deep wound break open and the warmth of fresh blood trickle down her back. She’d have to use her left hand, she realised. “Taught me to recognise a dick when I saw one.”

  Her violet eyes glittered as she crossed her left arm over her body to touch Go With My Blessing.

  It wouldn’t be the first time she’d used this particular blade with her left arm, but it wasn’t going to be the smoothest draw. She could have chosen another. But Go With My Blessing was her best throwing knife. It wouldn’t let her down. She could almost feel it humming as it anticipated flying like a hawk through the air.

  She licked her lips.

  Could smell the snow holding itself inside the clouds above as though afraid of being the trigger to the inevitable violence.

  “When you’re ready,” she said. Beckoned him forward with a crooking of her fingers.

  He gave a curt nod and began circling. He thought to stay on her weaker side. Smart of him, she allowed, to remember his training. She followed, step for step.

  Around the small box which waited on the ground between them.

  It was a magnet to his eyes. Working to constantly wrench his gaze from her. He had to struggle to keep his eyes on her. Had to fight his urge to lunge for it.

  Meanwhile, Nysta kept her gaze firmly fixed on his hands. On his feet. On his eyes. On the rhythm of his dance as he worked himself up, trying to get the courage to go for his dagger.

  She wondered how much of his style had been learned on the streets with duelists. There was something too fluid in the way he moved. More fluid than the style taught by the Jukkala, who preferred brutality over finesse.

  He’d had the gold to afford the best teachers, and she didn’t doubt he could throw his blade with matching skill to her own. It was one reason he hadn’t brought his sword. That, and he trusted the years he’d spent honing his craft.

  But the Jukkala didn’t believe in duels. There was never any guarantee of winning them. All it took was a slip on a stone. One distraction. A bird leaping from a nearby tree. Fingers slipping on the handle. And you were dead.

  Better to strike from behind when it wasn’t expected.

  All the same, she’d been forced to duel before. Her pride had refused to let her back down from the bitter challenge of a rival student. Meeting in secret, they fought a short and savage fight.

  And she’d lost. Walked away with a knife buried in her side and an ugly scar across her breast. But, Talek had reminded her often enough, she’d walked away.

  This one, though, wouldn’t end with both of them walking away. It wouldn’t be a fight to first, or second blood. It would be to the death. As it was always going to be.

  His fingers circled the pommel of his dagger. A nice knife, she thought absently. A bit too long and heavy for throwing. Not what she would have chosen. But the way he touched it showed his ability.

  Still, he seemed reluctant to pull the blade. As though waiting for something else.

  His finger rubbed the brass sphere which acted as a counterweight. It glinted. Caught the light and reflected it into her eyes. Not sharp enough to make her blink, but bright enough to narrow her eyes.

  She matched his breathing, feeling his ribcage expand and contract. And, for a brief moment, it was as if they were joined. Lashed together by chains of hate so much stronger than the feeble bonds of blood.

  He pulled his mouth back into a grimace as she allowed her own to curl cruelly up toward the scar. Inching into a smile that revealed nothing of the fear pounding in her chest and running like black torrents of thick oil through her veins.

  One spark.

  Just one spark.

  And she would explode.

  But she was determined it would be her brother who started the final drift into the maw of Death. Determined that spark should come from him. Give him that chance. That chance she never had. Not for him, but for her. So she could be sure those chains of blood were truly broken. Not by her, but by the family which had driven her into the foul embrace of the Lostlight streets.

  Let him break the last link with her past.

  With each step he took as he circled her, he grew more and more panicked. Sweat squeezed through the pores on his forehead and slid down the side of his face. His eyes flicked from her, to the box, and then to the trees. More and more to the trees.

  He muttered to himself.

  Gnawed the inside of his cheek.

  Scowled.

  And finally shrieked; “What the fuck are you waiting for?”

  But his words weren’t aimed at her. They were aimed at the trees.

  The elf paused, heart hammering in her throat. She expected an arrow in the back. A fireball to the head.

  Something.

  Anything.

  Heard a footfall behind her and Raste’s eyes widened again.

  “Me?” Chukshene’s voice was grim. “I’m waiting for you to die, asshole.”

  His voice was music to her ears and she felt the smile expand on her face, stretching the scar and making her brother freeze as a wave of terror rammed home harder than any knife she could throw into his body. His jaw dropped and a wet choke broke across his lips.

  “You get him?” she asked the warlock, without turning.

  “Yeah. Was as you said. The cleric came, too. Wasn’t expecting me to sneak up behind him.”

  Raste’s face was pale. His fingers twitched over the handle of his blade. “How’d you know?”

  “Know you better than you know yourself, Raste,” she said evenly. “I’m Jukkala’Jadean. A raghead. We know patience. Sure, we taught you, Raste. But not by choice. Besides, I watched you, remember? You always were a backstabbing little bastard. No way you’d have the guts to come alone. You can’t help yourself. Always got to have someone to do your wet work. Reckon that’s what drove you here. To lick Rule’s balls. Because at heart, you’re a coward. You can keep that bullshit about trying to save our kind. It ain’t about that. Never was. It’s about hoping he’ll give you a pair of your own. Well. Seems you won’t be making it. I’ll be sure to send him a card with my fucking regrets.”

  “You fucking-” He drew the blade in one swift move. His speed caught her by surprise. The world screeched as it braked into slow motion. He pulled his arm back. His form was smooth. Fluid. The blade flashed in the light. “Whore!”

  His blade glittered in the air. She saw it clearly, plunging toward her heart. Her body screamed in agony as she twisted on her heels. A torrent of wet worms rushed up her spine and clawed at the muscles in her back. She felt the dagger hiss through the air. Nearly found her head.

  Buzzed past her ear to spear into a tree directly behind her, its handle quivering hungrily as it sank into the trunk as though unaware it had missed its target.

  Nysta’s aim, however, was better. Go With My Blessing sailed from her fingers and splashed into his stunned chest, left of centre. Blood arced across the snow.

  He dropped with a cry. His fingers, sapping strength, scratched at the earth. He pulled himself across the frozen ground toward the box. Left a thick crimson trail. Eyes flared as his fingers wrapped around it.

  “Now,” he croaked, triumph rearing its reptile head above his agony. “I’ll show you, you cocksucking bitch. I’ll fucking show you.”

  The box opened with a cheerful click.

  And he looked inside.

  “Reckon what you’re looking for ain’t there, is it?” She sat down beside him, crossing her legs. Rummaged through her pouches for a few bandage
s she carried. “And those teachers of yours, Raste? Reckon they weren’t as good as you thought they were.”

  He worked hard to look up at her, eyes haunted and afraid as he saw the Shadowed Gates yawning open for him. “She’ll come for you,” he choked.

  “Yeah.” Her smile was cruel. “Reckon she will. And I’ll be waiting.”

  Raste tried to say something else, but blood bubbled too quickly over his lips and his eyes rolled hard back into their sockets as Death ripped the life from his body.

  She ran her fingers through the dead elf’s red hair and sighed.

  It wasn’t a sad sigh, but one which carried away with it many years of jealousy and regret. Jealous because he’d always had everything she felt was stolen from her. And regret, because there was always a part of her which had yearned for family. Which had always wanted a brother.

 

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