The Wall of Darkest Shadow (Nysta Book 5) Page 10

  Rubbing the scar on her cheek, she leaned against the wall. Lifted her face to look at the lines of soaked clothing dangling on the lines above. Clothing left outside for a reason.

  Melganaderna caught the elf's expression and her face hardened. “They're dead, aren't they? The people who lived here?”

  Nysta shrugged. “Probably. Fucked if I know.”

  “No one leaves their washing out in this weather. Or this late.”

  “Unless they're hiding inside.” She waved an arm at the sole illuminated window across the street. “Could be they don't want to come out.”

  “You think?”

  “Want to find out?”

  Melganaderna's mailshirt glistened as rain sluiced off the links. The purple glow of the axe was muted, but it brightened as she contemplated the elf's challenge. She reached up and ran her gloved hand over the battleaxe's massive blade. Nodded. “I'm game if you are.”

  “Then let's play,” the elf said. And surged from the alley. Hit the door with a crash muffled by torrential rain and wet wood.

  The door splintered inward, spewing light into the street.

  Melganaderna sheared in behind her, kicking the door shut behind them. Axe in both hands, the young axewoman charged the startled soldiers gathered around a small firepit which served as a cooking area for the humble home.

  There were seven of them.

  Two young, the others old.

  All eyes widened at the sight of the axe called Torment.

  All wanted to flee, but couldn't wrap their brains around the impulse long enough to fashion a thought. They had only a few seconds to decide. A few seconds which might give them the time they needed to survive.

  But the elf fell on them like a cat. Requires Only That You Hate gouged into belly, low and right of centre of the closest to her. Old, with rough hands and a beard mottled with grey streaking down his neck. He slapped a meaty first down on her back, hoping to drive her to the ground. Tried to then push her away as his blood foamed.

  The hot eruption splashed and sizzled as it met the flames of the fire they'd been boiling tea with.

  Another, old enough for his guts to be the first to feed his survival instinct, turned and ran to the back. Lunging for the door. Mouth open to shriek. Go With My Blessing tunnelled into his shoulder, sending him sprawling. He rolled to his knees. Lifted himself toward the door. Turned his face.

  Just a little.

  She saw the lined mask of pale skin. A face which backed up the stories he'd been telling around the fire. Grey eyes which had seen more violence than he was comfortable with. Swollen fingers unable to deliver the violence he'd learned to deliver in his youth.

  Fulci's Last Joke took his eye and plunged into his brain to cut all those stories free and send them reeling into the Shadows Halls on a string of silent screams.

  The body slumped, blood forming wings around his fresh corpse.

  The elf felt a heavy thud in her side as one of the young ones whipped her with a pair of heavy iron tongs he'd been using to move the pot. It steamed as it hit wyrmskin, but fire couldn't penetrate the leather of a creature born in flame.

  She smashed the next blow aside, using her bracer to deflect its path. Staggered beneath the power of his swing as the impact resonated in her bones. Then lunged. Low and deep.

  Requires Only That You Hate, still dripping blood from her first kill, slashed across the back of his arm. Luck was with the boy and his knee crunched into the soft angle of her hip as they met in a frenzy of slashing and pounding.

  The metal tongs caught her on the side of her head, skipping off her skull with a flash of light and red.

  She blinked, gaze suddenly blurring. Felt a surge of lightheadedness which made her snarl with rage. The kind of rage which forced the boy to skip away, a chant forming in the back of his throat as he held the domestic weapon in front of him. “No no no no!”

  And then she was on him. Blood streaming down her wet face. Snarl of pure hatred creasing the scar on her cheek. Requires Only That You Hate raked his outstretched arm, forcing him to drop the tongs and try to wrestle her arms.

  He managed to bring her arm to a halt and experienced a moment of safety which inspired him to think about using his elbow to break her jaw, but by the time this thought crossed his mind, she'd yanked A Flaw in the Glass free of its sheath and buried it in his guts. Tore the venomous blade upward with a savagery that drew a hollow sound alien to the boy's vocal cords.

  It was agony made voice, and it was the song he would sing as he died. Bone rattled inside his meat as A Flaw in the Glass splintered up through his ribs.

  What guilt she might have felt at the death of one so young was washed away by the pain throbbing through her temple.

  “Fucking prick,” the elf spat, reeling to her feet. Turned, expecting more violence.

  Found instead the walls of the small house practically coated with red.

  Chunks of three bodies lay in a scattered heap around Melganaderna, who stood with Torment shivering in her fists. Frozen in her last movement, which had been to bring the battleaxe in a dreadful sideways slice which cut her last enemy completely in half.

  The elf's eyes moved from a dismembered arm. Half a leg.

  Pieces of head.

  Brain. Guts. Unidentifiable meat.

  Raw stink and burning blood.

  The young axewoman moved slowly. Just her head. Looked across at Nysta and nodded, slightly dazed and battledrunk. “I think that's all of them,” she said. “I left my first alive. I think. Hit him pretty hard on the head. Not as hard as I hit you, though. Figured we'd want to ask some questions.”

  The elf frowned. “Questions?”

  “Yeah. You know. Questions. Like, how's the weather been? Think the rain will stop any time soon?” Melganaderna pulled herself erect and gave the axe a shake to loose the gore. A touch of hysteria tinged her voice and, looking at the horror of the bodies, the elf suddenly saw why. “I mean, I'm new here, Nysta. I've got no fucking idea what to ask but I'm sure there's shit we need to know. Like, if winter doesn't stop up here, will I need a new coat?”

  “Could've told you that much,” the elf grunted, touching her fingers to the ruined skin on her forehead. “You'll need a coat.”

  She flicked blood from her own weapons and wiped them on a rag of cloth she tore from one of the bodies. Slid them away with cool deliberate snaps.

  Moved to where a moaning old man was pressed against the wall. He was slick with blood, but most of it wasn't his.

  The elf knelt beside him, trying not to breathe the stink of him. Sour beer and old piss.

  Used the flat of Entrance Exam to tap against the swelling bruise on the side of his head. “Hey,” she called. “Fuckface. Wake up.”

  “What...?”

  She slapped him. Not hard. Just hard enough to make him start blinking his eyes open. “Questions, fuckface. We've got questions.”

  “Nothing,” he said through numb lips. “I won't tell you nothin'.”

  “I think you will.” Then, as his terrified mind absorbed the horror of the bodies around him, the elf leaned close so he could see the sneer on her face and be enveloped in the cruelty of her smile. “Especially when you see how nicely we're axing.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  His name was Marvyn Nash and he was afraid of torture.

  “I know what you fuckin' Tainted cunts can do,” he said through bloodstained teeth. She'd hit him a few times when he veered towards reluctance. “You got no soul. No fuckin' soul. Your insides are all dark and twisted. Grim left his mark on you. Look at you. Look at you! No soul. Fuckin' Tainted...”

  She hit him again. Blood and spit flew from his mouth to join an increasing spread on the wall near where his face was pressed.

  Behind her, Melganaderna winced, but said nothing.

  “Reckon I value mine enough to not give it away to any old god who comes along is all,” Nysta said.

  “Lord of Light will save us from you,” Marvyn
said thickly. Eyes rolled in their sockets and he was struggling to focus. “He'll destroy you. Fuckin' destroy you.”

  “There many more like you, Marvyn?” Nysta kept her voice flat and unemotional. An empty tone was something the Jukkala had said was more important in times like this than the knife you were cutting with. “Feller I know reckons any real Fnord would cut off his balls before bending knee to Rule. That what you did? You cut off your balls, feller? Or you still got some left for me to remove?”

  “Thousands,” he said. “There are thousands of us. Thousands and thousands. Millions!”

  “That why you needed a mage to make you look like there were more than there really are?”

  Blood drooled from his split lip, making the sneer on his face lopsided. “Some didn't answer the call. Cowards,” he said. “When the Doomgate is torn open, we'll join the army out there and come back. Find all those yellow bastards and cut their fucking livers out. You'll see! Black Blades are the best in the world. Won't give in until every Tainted one of you is dead. Hear me, you long-eared bitch? Dead!”

  Melganaderna snorted. “With Scarrow at their head, they'll be fucking lucky to get through the gates even if it was wide open. Idiot couldn't lead a thirsty horse to a lake full of water in the middle of summer. I'm surprised he's even here in the first place. Probably thinks he's in Sharra.”

  “Traitor!” Marvyn tried to spit at her, but his mouth wasn't working properly. “You betray your own blood. The world belongs to us. Can't you see that? It don't belong to these twisted things. Look at her! Those ears scream her evil soul. Her eyes. The colour of the witch! You'd best beg his forgiveness, wench. While there's still time.”

  “Wench?” Melganaderna stomped up and trod down on his thigh. Dropped her weight on him and leaned down to grab his head by his hair. Jerked it back to look him straight in the eyes. “You fucking say that again, you little bastard and I swear to your fucking god, I'll spend the rest of the night pulling you apart piece by fucking piece until there's so many bits of you across the fucking floor you'll think you're a fucking rug. And don't think I'll make the mistake of letting you die, first. No fucking way. You'll feel every fucking cut. You hear me?”

  He shrank back, unable to lift his arms.

  It was clear by his slurred speech and twitchy movement that something had broken in him when the flat of her axe had smashed into his skull. The swelling kept getting bigger on the side of his head. Darker. “Don't hurt me,” he said. Voice small and mouselike. “Please? I didn't do nothin'.”

  Nysta sighed. “Where's Bucky?”

  “Who?”

  “Bucky. General fucking Buckinum? Your leader.”

  “Bucky. Yeah. I know Bucky. He wasn't always our leader. Maleoin was.” The old man slumped when Melganaderna let him go. She didn't ease off his thigh, though. “Good man, Maleoin. Always had a good word for everyone, you know? Rose in the ranks himself. Started as a runner. No one ran those stairs as fast as he did. Real good at communication, he was. Never forgot his messages. Was always polite. Bucky, though, he bought his rank. His dad's high up in Dragonclaw. Bit of a bastard, I hear. But Little Bucky's alright. Comes down and has a drink with us sometimes. Always buys a round.”

  Melganaderna made to press harder on the man, but Nysta waved her away with a shake of her head.

  Marvyn didn't notice. His eyes had glazed and his voice trailed off.

  “Marvyn?” The elf reached out and took one of the old man's ears. Pinched it a little to draw a response. “Bucky. Where is he now?”

  “Maleoin did the right thing. Let Bucky take over. He was tired, you see. Tired. Smart man. But tired. All those years running up stairs, I imagine. When he took the Oath, Bucky said he only wanted to preserve the reputation of the Freemen. We swore an oath to protect the Fnordic Lands. Protect it. Can't protect it when the emperor is letting the mages take control. Can't protect it if there's nothing left to protect. We had to do something, right? We gotta make the Freemen mean something again. Got to make us greater than ever.”

  “Greater? By selling the Fnordic Lands to Rule?” Melganaderna scoffed. “How much? How much did he sell your families for?”

  “It's not just for gold,” Marvyn said. “It's our future. Bucky just wants what's best for everyone. Orks and elfs are Tainted. The Dark Lord's touch blinded us to that. Made us think we weren't better than them. But we are, aren't we? This land's ours. We deserve it. Look at the orks. Green skin. It's because their blood is poisoned by Grim's evil, right? It's like pus is in their veins, not blood. That's why they fight all the time. They're just a bunch of fuckin' animals. Stupid animals. Good for nothin' but doin' all the hard work, maybe. That's why Rule only uses them as slaves. You know that? Lord of Light puts them to proper use. Puts 'em where they fuckin' belong. You look Caspiellan, wench. You know what I'm sayin'. True, ain't it? It's true. I seen it.”

  The young axewoman was unable to hold his gaze. “I told you not to call me that.”

  Nysta, more firmly: “Where's Bucky? Which building is he in?”

  The man's head rolled a little. He groaned. “I don't know. That way.”

  “Which way?”

  “I can't move my arm.”

  “Near the gate?”

  “I think so.” He closed his eyes. “I gotta do my best. I'm old, but I can prove something. I can still show the young fellers what to do. Can still show him. He's gonna get a lot of gold, isn't he? Won't need it all. Maybe he'll see what I done. Maybe I'll get a piece, right? Don't need much. Just a piece. Or two. He came down here. Last night it was. Or was it night before? And he says, Marvyn. He says, Marvyn, you're so important to us. Without you, he says, we couldn't have got this far. We need you, Marvyn. Ah, he's a fine sort is Bucky. He'll share it out for sure. Not like Maleoin, who just took his cut and run, right? Good lad, Bucky. Not greedy at all. Good lad. I'll do my best, sir. I sure will. We'll get that fuckin' Doomgate open for you. Even if we have to open it with our 'eads. We'll open it. You'll see. Just look at them, Bucky. They're orks, mostly. Cowards. Did you see the frightened ones still hiding in their holes? We'll get 'em beat. You'll see. Good on you, Marvyn. Knew I could count on you.”

  “I hit him too hard,” Melganaderna said. Shrugged. Looked at the broken door. “Maybe we can knock a few other places down?”

  The elf's hand dropped to the hilt of her newest blade. A blade whose metal was sheathed in a black enchantment Chukshene hadn't liked. She considered drawing the unnamed knife. But then moved her hand to Quit Treading Water. The straight blade had a sharp edge made for slicing. Was broad and wicked.

  She slid it slowly from its sheath. Pressed it against the old man's cheek. “Hey, Marvyn? Feel that?”

  “That you, Martha? Dark Lord blind you, your lips are cold but I don't give a fuck. Show me your tits. Show 'em and I'll show you what a bit of experience teaches a man.”

  The blade slit skin, drawing more blood and a moan from him. “Marvyn? Concentrate. What building is Bucky in? What's it look like?”

  He squirmed. “Big one. Best house in the fucking town. Shitload of rooms, it has. Only the best for Bucky, right?” His eyes opened, though he stared right through her. Tears spilled. “I got taken by dwarfs, Martha. They did . . . things. Thing to me. Bad things. I got scars. It hurt. Martha, love, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I just lost it. Martha?”

  She slapped him again, sending his head sideways. “Fuck you, Marvyn! Is it near the fucking gate?”

  “He'll give us a share. Course he will. What's he gonna do with that much gold anyways? He'll have some set aside for his old friend Marvyn. Marvyn who taught him all he knows, right? Martha? You listening to me, girl? You listening?”

  “Shit.”

  Melganaderna flushed. “Sorry. This thing's not really a cudgel. I don't think it was made to gently slap people with. And you never know how hard to hit someone. Some people you hit with a bit of a nudge and they die. Others, like you, you smash them with everything you have and they get
up smiling. I meant that kind of loosely. You didn't smile.”

  “Ain't your fault,” the elf said. “I should've covered this part myself. Should've thought to leave someone alive.”

  “Got a bit carried away?”

  Nysta shrugged, looking away from where Marvyn mumbled to himself. “It happens.”

  “I trained for years, Nysta. With the best. Gormen... He was so cold, you know? I tried to be like that. Just think of it as a puzzle, you know? You have three fellers. You need three dead. Hit them one at a time. Swing hit. Swing hit. Swing hit. Move your feet right. Watch your back. You know. Just training. Nothing personal. No need to feel anything inside. No fear. No hate. No guilt. Nothing. Just flow.” She looked around, chewing on her upper lip. Sighed. “Instead, it feels crazy. Everything's a jumbled mess. I fight and I want to just throw this thing at them and dive in. Tear them to pieces with my hands. Scream. Anything to get them down. There's no time to think. No time for training. I just flail about, my mind filled with colours and those colours are swords which could kill me. It's terrifying. And it's beautiful. But mostly, it's terrifying.”

  “You'll get used to it,” the elf said, reluctant to think about it.

  “And if I don't?”

  “You'll get dead.”

  “Good incentive,” the young axewoman murmured. “So. We're looking for a big house? Nice house?”

  “Yeah.” The elf pressed the knife again to the old man's cheek. “Hey, Marvyn. You still with us?”

  “Martha. I knew you'd wake up. Knew you'd be fine. I've gotta go, lass. Off to Bucky. You remember Bucky? Good man. Can have a drink with him. He needs help. Needs Marvyn. No one else will do, he says. So, I'll be back. And I'll bring gold with me this time, lass. You'll see. Martha? You awake? Why won't you wake up? Martha?”

  “Marvyn?”

  He didn't respond, so she cut his ear off.

  Sliced it free in one quick slash which sent the flap of meat spinning away to where it landed with a wet splat. Melganaderna made a throaty sound of disgust. Looked away.