by Lucas Thorn
She quickly caught up with Nysta, whose violet eyes were more easily able to see through the dark passage ahead of Chukshene's orb. The two spellslingers hurried to keep up, and the warlock's constant complaints hadn't yet left the elf's hearing.
Melganaderna, almost on the elf's heel, grunted as they worked themselves sideways through a tighter opening. “Do you always rush in like this, Nysta? Not even knowing what you're fighting?”
Another scream knifed through the dark and the elf frowned.
She didn't. While she'd never been known for having a tight grip on her patience, she'd always wanted to know what she was fighting. Without good reason, she'd never have burst blindly into anything.
It wasn't her way.
But the pressure steaming through her blood was too much. Aimless frustration was quickly turning to anger and it couldn't be bottled. Not this time.
The sounds of violence which clanged up from the cave were pulling her like a magnet.
“Move faster,” the elf hissed. “Or there'll be nothing left to kill.”
“It's not me slowing us down. You're the one not moving fast enough.”
“Oh, fuck,” Chukshene moaned as the spellslingers finally managed to catch up. “Another psychopath. Now I've got two of them.”
The screams grew louder.
More shrill.
Terror and pain combined to form a grotesque orchestra whose music clashed against the solid rock walls.
“Are you sure this is the smartest decision you've ever made, Nysta?” Chukshene shuddered. Sighed as a sharp finger of rock tore another hole in his robe. “Whatever the fuck it is down there, it's tearing them apart.”
Hemlock clutched the warlock's sleeve. “You think it's the Accepted?”
“Nysta?” Chukshene's voice was tight with exertion. The stone pressed against his cheek and he couldn't see past Melganaderna. “What do you think?”
The elf erupted from the tight passage onto a wide flat ledge. Was forced to a sudden stop as the ground fell away and had to cartwheel her arms to stop from falling. Though the drop wasn't far, she paused anyway to drink in the scene playing out.
Melganaderna, quickly behind, gasped and lifted her axe high. Its heavy blades gleamed with brutality. A kind of brutality which was easily justified. Because, given the size of the cavern they'd entered, the young axewoman was going to have the room to swing the battleaxe after all.
And the thought filled the young woman with a mix of dread and excitement.
Violence whispered its promises in clashes of steel and bone.
Hemlock staggered out of the cave next, eyes widening. Only Chukshene's managed to be any wider.
The elf wiped her mouth with the back of her fist. Felt the worms squirreling down her shoulders and arms. Under the bracers around her forearms.
She felt strong.
Satisfied.
Almost peaceful. As though she'd found her place in the world.
One of the Grey Jackets, close enough to see them enter the cavern, paled as he caught sight of her. His shriek rang out above the sounds of combat. “It's her!”
Then he turned and fled, aiming for a side tunnel. He managed to slip past the distracted Dhampir and disappeared into the dark.
Another Grey Jacket spun round, watching helplessly as the other man disappeared. “Where are you going? Ahod!”
“What do I think, 'lock?” The elf raised an arm, pointing at the shouting man with A Flaw in the Glass. “Think I'll start with him. The feller calling Ahod.”
Seeing the elf for the first time, the man panicked. But kept screaming for his fleeing comrade. “Ahod!”
“Well?” The elf's grin curled cruel. She jumped. Hit the ground running. Could already taste the blood she was about to spill. “You heard the man.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
There were six Grey Jackets pressed against the wall. She couldn't see any sign of the cleric and assumed the soldiers had split up to explore the labyrinthine caves. Felt with gut instinct more than any astute guess that Hyrax wouldn't be close enough to save the men struggling to stay alive.
Forming a wall in front of the soldiers was a small army of skeletons. Old dry flesh still sticking to their bones. A few had scarlet chunks splashed against their ribs and skulls. Signs of fresher meat which wasn't their own.
Bereft of muscle and tendon, they appeared fragile, but their fragility clearly hadn't stopped them from tearing at least two Grey Jackets to small pieces.
How they remained upright was something she figured only Hemlock would be able to explain.
Not that she cared.
Not yet.
A Dhampir prowled the edge of the small battle, making the line between soldiers and undead flinch.
Large and apelike, with a monstrous face which looked like a crazed mixture of bat and wolf. Glowing red eyes. Fangs like knives. As big as an ork and twice as angry.
Savage maw dripping blood and gore. It'd fed already and was thirsting for more.
As she bolted toward the fray, determined to kill, the Dhampir launched itself into the Grey Jackets from the other side, managed to snatch one by an arm and leg.
Wrenched him free of his terrorised comrades as though he weighed nothing at all. Didn't seem to notice the soldier's desperate struggles. Just looked at him with glowing red eyes filled with hunger.
And tore.
The man shrieked, the sound filling the cavern with such a cry of agony that the Shadowed Halls themselves echoed with it.
Even the elf paused in revulsion as she caught a glimpse of the man's body being ripped in two. The horrible sound of meat and bone being torn apart vomited gruesomely into the cacophony of battle. Blood and worse showered the ecstatic creature.
The skeletons, mindless of what had happened, clattered forward. Though not as fast as the frenzied Dhampir, they seemed relentless. Old weapons from ancient wars in bony fists.
The other Grey Jackets saw the elf coming and, for a moment, their spirits raised as a sliver of hope lifted their hearts. They figured a common enemy haunted the room. An enemy more foul than anything the elf could represent.
Figured she'd fight at their side.
But they couldn't know the depth of her hate until she was among them, ignoring the clutching of skeletons so she could ram A Flaw in the Glass through the shocked mouth of the first soldier she could reach.
The blade slid through the back of his head with shocking ease.
She twisted her knife free, nearly taking his jaw with it. Turned, violet eyes sparking with hate, on the rest.
Who shouted at her.
Screamed words she couldn't understand. Warded her with outstretched hands.
She roared into their terrified faces; “Fuck you!”
Spittle wet on her lips, the elf flew at them. Stabbing. Cutting. Raking.
And then Melganaderna was there. The massive battleaxe whooshing through the air. The sound of its passage was hollow and dark, runes glowing an ominous shade of purple. The twin blades fractured the light from the Grey Jackets' torches, gleaming in the light of the yellow orb. Flashes of reflected light stuttered brightly as the effect of the different lights clashing off the alien steel brought madness to the fray.
The massive axe cleaved through skeletons, sending their bones skittering across the cavern's uneven floor. A skull rolled to a sullen stop and the dark black pits of its eye sockets stared malevolence back at the chaos.
Caught between the hunger of the Dhampir and the fury of the elf, the Grey Jackets sought to defend themselves as best they could. Two rushed to meet her, driving their swords in fast, thrusting wildly. She deflected a blade's edge across her bracer and the other slid through her jacket to tear a line across her ribs.
Spinning away, she powered into the arms of a skeleton who clawed with sharp fingers at her throat.
Hemlock, on his knees, jabbed his finger at his grimoire. Blinked to clear his mental fog, and used his other hand to wipe beads of sweat fr
om his cheek.
Chukshene stood beside him, looking helpless without his spellbook. Still, the acrid stink of magic surged around him.
“Nysta,” he shouted. “Look out!”
She twisted her body, fighting against the supernatural arms wrapped around her neck, and caught a glimpse of a Grey Jacket's sword streaking for her guts.
Lifting herself in the undead grip, she managed to lash out with both feet. One foot kicked into the flat of the blade, sending his blow arcing away. Her other heel, intended to wipe his face from his skull, missed as the skeletal arms wrapped tighter around her throat and jerked her suddenly toward undead jaws.
Stink of death was sharp. Desperation gifted her with speed and Underling's Bane slid between its ulna and radius bones of its forearm. She twisted. Wrenched. Grunted in satisfaction as they broke, severing its wrist from its arm and sending bones dancing out across the stone floor.
But the rest of the arm snaked around her neck, sharp edges of freshly-splintered bone drawing deep grooves between her throat and shoulder. Trying to haul her closer to the clicking teeth of its snapping jaw.
The skeleton hadn't even twitched when its arm shattered.
They felt no pain, she realised.
“Shit,” the elf managed to gasp.
Narrowed her eyes to slits as she saw Melganaderna chop through the mass of undead warriors toward the rampaging Dhampir. Caught a brief glimpse of the young axewoman's expression. Fear and excitement wrangled with her features. The closest thing to lust you could feel in a fight.
She could feel the young woman's desire to kill. Knew in this way, they were kindred spirits.
But couldn't afford to ponder this awkward revelation as the soldier scooped up his fallen sword and, though he struggled with another skeleton attacker of his own, was still looking to gut her. His eyes told the story of his own violent need.
Anger kicked her in the chest and she did the only thing she could think of.
Launched herself upward, throwing herself back over the skeleton's shoulder. The movement tore her free of its clutching arm, sending more brittle bones spitting to the ground. Not sure where to stab, and seeing no vital point, the elf chose to skewer it in the spine, just at the base of its skull.
Underling's Bane bit easily through dry bone, popping the skull free.
The body dropped, lifeless once more as the head crashed to the ground.
Just as the Grey Jacket darted forward.
“Kill you, you Tainted-” he managed to hiss just as Underling's Bane left her hand to seek the warm fountain gushing from his throat. He fell, writhing on the ground. Fingers tearing at his neck in vain hope his life would stop flooding away.
The elf didn't pause. She leapt his twitching body, already drawing Foxwise. Eyes searching for a fresh kill.
Melganaderna had reached the Dhampir and the battleaxe was screaming for gore. But the creature showed unnatural speed to deftly swat the heavy blade aside as though it was an irritant.
The battleaxe smashed into the closest wall with a shocked clang and the young woman had to work hard to avoid the heavy creature's lunging attack. Scything claws whipped across her mailshirt.
The rings rang with a metallic cry, but held.
For now.
The elf, so focussed on the Dhampir by this stage, almost found herself skewered on a grim-faced soldier's blade. Managed to avoid dying only because her boot skidded on one of many bones now covering the floor.
It sent her wheeling sideways and she used the momentum to swing herself around, aiming a kick at her attacker. A kick which caught him flush across his ribs. Toe first, so the impact sent pain blossoming from a sharp point. He choked, but managed to bring his weapon up to drive A Flaw in the Glass away from his throat.
The two blades snapped against each other with a steely rasp.
He reared above her. Grinned. Buckled teeth showing between cracked lips.
“You'll die by my sword, Tainted,” he said, covering her in his septic breath. “I'll be more than Accepted, then. Rule will cleanse my blood and I'll be Forgiven!”
“Reckon I'll save him the trouble, feller,” she said through her teeth as she wrenched herself around his wild swing. Thrust her knee up hard into his lower abdomen to double him over. Pressed Foxwise up against his neck, just under his ear. Watched the fear bloom. “Forgive you right here, only way I know how.”
Then, before he could comprehend her words, she used the palm of her hand to slam the blade hard into his brain.
Blood gushed down her arm, but her gaze had left him as fast as his soul. She moved, leaving spots of crimson in her wake.
Dodged another skeleton's wayward attempt to grab her.
Used the body of a fallen Grey Jacket as a springboard to dive over a couple more undead warriors and landed deftly beside Melganaderna.
Pressed her back against the young axewoman's and eyed the skeletons closing in.
“Reckon Hemlock works the same as Chukshene?”
“How's that?” Melganaderna's breath came in shaky gasps. Despite her bravado and enthusiasm, killing was still something new to her. It showed how little she'd faced death. Her opponents had mostly been other soldiers. Not creatures from the depths of nightmare.
So, she knew the moves, but not the psychological depths of brutality.
Still, she held her fear with a determination the elf was grudgingly beginning to admire.
“You do the fighting while he spends his time reading?”
“Sounds about right.”
“Got much more in you?”
“Fight?” Melganaderna used the heavy battleaxe's long handle to block the Dhampir's snarling jaws. Then jerked downward. Hard. Managed to rip a long line in its cheek as it pulled its head back to avoid the flashing crescent-shaped blade. She took a half-step toward it, away from the elf. “I haven't even started. I could fight all day.”
“Might have to if he reads as slow as the 'lock,” Nysta growled, throwing herself at the closest skeleton warriors.
It was like hitting a wall of corruption.
The eldritch stench of decay woven into the bitter stink of magic. Sharp bones raked out, broken tips slashing skin and tearing at her jacket.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the last Grey Jacket fall shrieking to a couple of skeletons who slowly and methodically tore his stomach open and began scooping out his guts.
They made no effort to do anything with them. Neither to consume them like a Draug, or treasure them like a goblin. Instead, they left his innards steaming on the floor while he screamed until his brain finally accepted death and snuffed the flickering light of his soul.
Then they turned toward her, fleshless grinning faces making the hairs on the back of her neck rise in horror. Dark empty sockets devoid of expression.
They attacked without communication. Just a wave of mindless strikes without form or skill. The elf grunted warily. It wasn't the most effective way to defeat an enemy, she thought as she spat bitterly to the floor, but it got the job done. Eventually.
Cuts quickly opened across her face and hands.
Long fingers grabbed her shoulders, trying to pull her into an icy cold grip.
Old death and new death competing to fuel her fear.
Fresh meat and rotten bones.
She slipped on a puddle of blood. Landed on one knee. Had to work hard to fight free of the sudden surge of animated dead. Desperation fuelled by fear as she lashed out wildly with knife, elbow, and foot.
Thought for a moment she could rest as she knocked another onto its back. That there was an end to their number. But soon realised she was wrong. Whenever she broke one, another took its place. She couldn't even see where they were coming from.
Then a new sound rumbled through the cavern.
A deep and inhuman moan which belonged nowhere this side of the Shadowed Halls.
And she saw the Grey Jacket, whose belly had been ripped open, climb to his feet. Slowly aim himself toward
her. Eyes glowing an infected green. Trailing his guts, he took a tentative step toward her.
Open mouth drooling gore.
He trod on his own innards, locking himself in place. Looked confused for a moment. Then forced himself forward, dislodging more of his internal organs with a wet foaming gush.
“Oh, shit.” The elf sent Foxwise spinning into the undead creature's head. Followed this with Niarmit's Last Prayer. Knowing it wouldn't stop the resurrected dead. And was proved right as the creature kept lurching forward, two handles protruding from its forehead like unnatural horns.
Raised her voice over the rumbling moan. “Chukshene? How much fucking longer?”
“One minute!”
“Nysta!” Melganaderna's shout was tinged with hysteria. “Get over here!”
“Fuck.” But she spun A Flaw in the Glass, drew The Ugly and used both her shoulder and brute force to smash through the few skeletons between her and the young axewoman. Felt clawed fingers slip and drag across her back. Rounded on them, once more pressing against Melganaderna. “Now what?”
The young woman fended off the searching swipe of the Dhampir's claws. Not daring to take her eyes from the creature, Melganaderna jerked her head toward the rear of the cavern. “Over there. A candle in a bowl. See it?”
The elf glanced to where a small clay bowl sat smugly on a pedestal. Its greasy pale light hardly touched the wall. Other candles were flickering from small alcoves in the wall, so she'd not noticed it before. It was, she thought, not the kind of thing she expected to see. “Yeah. I see it. What about it?”
“Hemlock's a necromancer, remember? He uses them. Or bowls like them. When he's speaking to the undead. I'm not sure, but I think if you break that bowl, the skeletons should stop walking.”
“You sure?”
“No.” She tightened her grip around the battleaxe's long handle and clenched her jaw. “But you're right about how fast he reads.”
“Shit.”
“I can't get past this bastard. He's not the smartest fucker in the world, but he knows what I've been trying to do. If I can keep him occupied for a few seconds, you could get past. You're fast. You'll make it.”
