Revenge Of The Elf (Book 1) Page 7

Chukshene nodded politely and watched the wagoner as he headed off into the dark, calling for Oliver. Turning back to the elf, he tapped the edge of his grimoire thoughtfully. Rested his head on it and eyed her steadily for a moment before speaking. “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “Your loss.”

  The elf waited, thinking he was about to say something more, but he left it at that and allowed the silence to stretch.

  A log popped in the flame and she rubbed the scar on her cheek absently. “Thanks.”

  “Can I ask you something?” He kept tapping the grimoire.

  “If you have to.”

  “Why’d you let me come with you? You could’ve left me. Could’ve stuck one of your toys into my eye. Or worse places. I don’t understand. I mean, I don’t know you. But I can see you’re not the type to do things out of the goodness of your heart. So why’d you do it? Why let me live? Not because you like me. I can see that. Don’t understand, of course. I mean, what’s not to like?”

  “It important, Chukshene?”

  “To me. Like the little guy said. It makes sense to know who you travel with.”

  She rolled her shoulders, feeling the knots loosen as she listened to the sound of his breathing mingle with the crackle of the fire.

  Deep in the dark, a horse gave a low whinny.

  The voices of Oliver and Carter crept through the night and the elf closed her eyes, but couldn’t make out any words. The tone, however, was clear.

  She sighed, scratching at the palm of her hand.

  Opening her violet eyes, the elf looked hard at the spellslinger. “My husband was murdered yesterday,” she said. “Shouldn’t have happened, but it did. Two years ago, I’d have come home to find a bunch of corpses in the sun and Talek whistling while he dug their graves. But not this year. Yesterday, I buried him. Took the knife that killed him from his chest. Keep it right here at my hip. I mean to give it back to the feller who left it behind. Only right to return a man’s belongings. What’s worse right now is I think I know the man who owns it. And if it’s him, I should’ve killed him a long time ago. A moment’s weakness. That’s all. A moment’s weakness and this is my reward for letting him live. Why’d I let you come with me, spellslinger? Because you piss me off. And while you’re pissing me off, I can stop thinking how this is all my fault.”

  “Your fault?” he leaned forward. “How is it your fau-”

  “Freeze!” Oliver screamed, leaping into the clearing. His bow quivered in his hand, the arrow’s tip glinting wickedly in the firelight.

  His face was sharp and demonic as he struggled with the urge to let the arrow fly into her body and the last fragment of humanity which baulked at the thought of cold-blooded murder. The elf noticed the struggle and wondered if there had ever been a time when she herself had fought that struggle.

  Behind him, Carter had his hatchet in one hand and a small dagger in the other. Though he looked reluctant to fight, there was a resignation in the way he carried himself beside the archer.

  She didn’t doubt the wagoners’ determination and ability to kill.

  Her eyes slid over them, slowly. “Cold word to use by a fire as warm as this one. You sure you want to do this?” the elf asked. “Just the two of you? Without your team?”

  The archer bared his teeth. The bow creaked dangerously in his fist. “I can kill you just fine on my own, Long-ear.”

  “Don’t reckon you can,” she said, ignoring Chukshene’s hiss of shock as she rose to her feet like a leviathan from the sea.

  “Sit the fuck down!” Oliver shrieked, jerking his aim between the elf and the mage. “I’m warning you, you fucking Tainted bitch! I’ll fucking kill you! I will!”

  “Please,” the hawk-nosed Carter whined. “Do what he says. We don’t want to kill you. Just want the rest of your silver. We need it to get to Lostlight. Our wagon’s ruined. When I said we’d repaired the wheel, I lied. Look at it. It can’t be repaired. We’ve been trying for the past two days and there’s no hope. We’re going to leave it. And our stock. We’ll be ruined if we go as we are. But with your silver, we might make it. Please. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

  The elf let her hand drop to the hilt of A Flaw in the Glass. The other drifted above Entrance Exam. She let her mouth curl into a twisted smile that left the archer in no doubt as to where to keep his arrow aimed. Ignoring the threat, the elf took a half-step closer. “You fellers should know two things, first.”

  The archer’s tongue flicked over his upper lip. “What’s that?”

  Two blades leapt into her fists like flashes of silver. A Flaw in the Glass flared venomously as her voice cut smoothly through the night. “I’m super pissed. And you’re out of your league.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Streaking to her left, her eyes clamped onto the released arrowhead like magnets to iron. It buzzed through the air and drove hard into the log on which she’d been sitting with a frustrated thunk.

  “Bitch!” the archer spat. He threw his bow aside as she whirled into range, sliding a brutal-looking knife from his hip and spinning it in his hand. “Come on then, Tainted slut! You don’t frighten me! I cut up your kind plenty of times before.”

  The elf circled slowly as the threat of the bow was removed. She wasn’t eager to die.

  Kept her eyes on the knife, aware of Carter standing back. The hawk-nosed man wasn’t a fighter and looked unable to decide what to do.

  Dismissing both the confused wagoner and the stunned spellslinger behind her, she focussed completely on the archer.

  Could see how much he wanted to sink the blade into her guts. Could smell the hate wafting off him in waves as he revelled in thoughts of tearing the skin from her body. That he’d called her Tainted showed his sympathies and this hate of his meant that slender strand of humanity was being strangled with each passing second.

  Soon, he would feel only a thin razor-sharp determination to kill. Hesitation would cease to exist inside him and reflex would take over.

  She knew this, because she possessed the reflexes of a killer and virtually none of the hesitation. She’d been trained for it both as an urchin on the streets of Lostlight and, later, a raghead in service to the King.

  So, she watched him. And kept her patience.

  Searching.

  For an opening.

  “Cut up my kind, huh?” she grinned cruelly, knowing the hate would flare in him. Knowing that hate would fuel impatience. “You’ve got no fucking idea what kind I am.”

  “Don’t matter,” the archer sneered. “You’ll soon be the best kind of Long-ear there is. On account you’ll be the dead kind.”

  She let him make the first move. A choice which nearly got her killed, because he was faster than she’d expected.

  Most humans moved slower than elfs, but Ollie was quick enough that the dagger sliced across her rib. Had to fling herself awkwardly to avoid taking the full force of the blade.

  Saved from bleeding only by the tough wyrmskin, the elf snarled a curse as her boot slipped on a stone and nearly snapped her ankle. She stumbled, arms wheeling as she tried to catch her balance.

  He gave a yelp of pleasure at seeing her tumble and rushed in, sensing an advantage. His fist screamed toward her jaw.

  But the advantage he’d sensed, wasn’t really there.

  Recovering fast, she countered his attack with one of her own. Powered into him, her shoulder smashing hard into his hip, spinning him around. Driving him back with a series of sweeping kicks, she grinned tightly as the dance of violence pumped her body full of adrenaline.

  Ollie bit back a curse as her boot smashed against his knees. Rocked to a staggering halt, he tried gaining his momentum by swinging his arm at her, his fist thirsting for blood as it blurred toward her face.

  It was the worst move
he could make.

  Entrance Exam flashed. The blade’s belly tore smoothly into his incoming fist, entering between the two middle knuckles and carving up along the bones of his fingers as though cutting through cheese.

  Then stopped as it chopped into his wrist.

  His arm shuddered to a halt inches from her face and she felt his weight press against her. For a moment, their eyes met and she saw the triumph in his eyes die at the sight of blood welling up from his hand.

  With a savage jerk, she ripped the blade free in a downward motion. Blood spattered at their feet and she spun ruthlessly on her heel.

  Ollie screamed as agony travelled up the nerves of his wounded hand to slam into his brain like a sledge. Screamed again as the elf swatted his wounded arm aside so she could charge into him, ramming her shoulder hard into his chest to send him staggering back on failing legs.

  Realising he’d underestimated the elf, he tried to run. Managed to half-turn away before the flash of A Flaw in the Glass lit up the campsite with its ravenous glow.

  The elf’s face was a mask of rage twisted over a core of joy as she attacked. The need to kill chased her like a starving wolf. She struck, a brutal blow that squeezed every ounce of strength from her arm as A Flaw in the Glass buried itself to the hilt in his chest.

  Gently, she pressed her face against his, smelling his unwashed skin. Feeling a gasp of rancid breath rush against her cheek. “Tried to tell you,” she said calmly, holding A Flaw in the Glass as still as she could. “I ain’t any kind of kind.”

  Then ripped the blade upward, ignoring ribs to shear through his collarbone and explode free with a powerful spray of blood. Pulled a scream from somewhere so deep inside him that it sounded to her ears as though his soul itself was screaming.

  The sound of Ollie’s scream brought Carter to his knees and the hawk-nosed man gave a shrill cry in echo as the archer dropped to the ground.

  Nysta paused above the body, her cold gaze scanning the bloodied chest. The gaping wound drew no new emotions from her and she wondered when it was that she’d lost the power to feel anything at all when faced with the awful sight of a man with his front opened up.

  Then thought of Talek, and her chest tightened as though a fist clenched around her heart.

  Carter dropped his hatchet and knife. Vomited heavily on the cold earth, his body heaving as he fought waves of horror and revulsion.

  Slowly, she turned toward him.

  “Carter Holl,” she said, her voice sounding hollow in her ears. “You tried to kill me. That pisses me off, you know.”

  “Please, Long-ear,” he whimpered, clawing at the sodden ground. “Don’t kill me. Please. I’ll go. You won’t ever see me again. I swear it! But, please, don’t kill me!”

  “Nysta,” Chukshene wiped his mouth and gripped the grimoire so tight she thought he might break it in two. “Please. No more.”

  “I’ll give you your coin back!” The wagoner struggled to pull the coins from his purse. They scattered out of his shaking hands and glinted in flickering firelight. “Here! Have it all! Have it. Just let me live!”

  “Money can buy anything,” the elf said, her words coming slow and soft like a silk ribbon.

  Chukshene sucked a quick breath.

  The wagoner looked up, hope spreading over his face. Smiled weakly. “Thankyo-”

  And got no further. Entrance Exam flashed like a steel hummingbird. The slender blade splashed into his eye and drilled into his brain with brutal efficiency. A puff of red mist burst from the wound.

  He dropped without a sound, his body giving a single violent spasm before death wrenched all sign of life away.

  “But it won’t buy me,” she finished coldly.

  “Son of a fucking bitch,” Chukshene croaked, his mouth hanging slack.

  She spun on the spellslinger, A Flaw in the Glass glowing bright. The aftermath of violence made her quiver and her violet eyes glittered dangerously in his direction.

  He scrambled backward, bringing up his grimoire like a shield. “Grim’s withered cock! I didn’t mean anything! Nysta, listen to me, I’m not-”

  “Relax, mage,” she hissed through her teeth. “I know what you fucking are.”

  Whirling away, the elf knelt to wipe the gore from her enchanted blade on Ollie’s cloak. Slid the blade into its sheath before taking the archer’s own knife in her hand and looking at it with a critical eye.

  It was a practical weapon but with a jagged saw-toothed spine which seemed to be chopped into the steel for no reason other than to cause more pain. The handle was overly smooth wood and would need binding with leather if she didn’t want to lose it if her fingers were slick. The edge was dull through lack of care. She figured the archer spent more time on his bow. But otherwise, it was in good condition.

  She spun it lightly in her fingers to test its weight. Decided it was worth keeping.

  With a callous smirk, the elf sheathed the freshly named Kindness in a sheath inside her boot. Lifted her gaze and flexed her wrists before checking the body of Carter Holl. Snatched Entrance Exam and pulled it free with an awful sucking sound that made the spellslinger flinch.

  She felt his gaze on her as she moved.

  Knew he was still worried she’d turn on him at any moment, but the rage which had chewed through her self control had already eased. It left behind a hollow sense of despair sliding around her heart like a worm.

  The elf crouched low over the dead wagoner, her eyes drifting over the shadowy treeline. She could make out the sound of the small creek bubbling in the distance. A horse gave a low snort. Other than that, the land was steeped in icy silence.

  “Are you okay?” he asked nervously. “Not going to slit my throat or anything?”

  “If I were, spellslinger, I’d have done it by now.”

  He turned her words over in his head a few times before letting out a sigh. “Guess you would have at that. Anyone ever tell you, Nysta, that you’re more than just a little bit fucked up?” He scrubbed his fingers through his greasy hair before adding quickly; “No offence.”

  The elf gave no reply. Instead grabbed hold of Carter’s lifeless shoulders and began dragging the corpse away from the camp. He was heavy, but once she made the tree line, she kicked the body so it rolled out of view before returning for Ollie.

  Found the mage picking his way over the bloodied ground, holding his robe high above his ankles. He had one hand wrapped delicately around one of the dead archer’s boots and was hauling the body as though afraid of getting blood on his fingers. With each step, his face twisted in distaste.

  “This is awful,” he complained. “Fuck. The stink. You ever thought there were cleaner ways to kill a man?”

  She cocked her head at him and rubbed the scar on her cheek. “Ain’t no clean ways to kill, spellslinger.”

  “I guess not. But there’s gotta be less messy ways. You didn’t have to open him up like a fish. I used to live near the docks, you know. In Doom’s Reach. Used to stink of fishguts. This is worse. Much fucking worse.”

  The elf headed to the wagon and leaned inside. Poked around until she found a scrap of cloth. Using it to wipe her hands free of blood, the elf craned her neck toward where she thought the stream was. Squinted into the gloom. “Reckon water’s this way.”

  “Fucked if I know,” Chukshene gagged, nudging the body with his boot to roll it up against the other wagoner’s corpse. “Grim’s balls, this is crazy. Ah, shit. I think I trod in something. Fuck. Nysta? Where you going? Hey! Long-ear?”

  The stream’s water was almost frozen. Crisp flakes of ice drifted along the surface and collected along the pebbled bank. She watched the water flow through her fingers, taking a cloud of red away as though no blood had ever stained her hands. It was almost too easy to kill, she thought.

  She heard a soft hushing sound a
nd looked up.

  Snow.

  Delicate wafers drifting downward to bring more cold to the land. The elf grunted. Like it needed more.

  A single flake brushed against her forearm and she watched it shrivel as it melted against the bracer hung loose from her arm. She lifted her hand and watched the water slide gently down the wyrmskin to seep into the crook of her arm before dripping off her elbow.

  The drop hung in the air before plunging into the stream to be carried away.

  Like blood.

  Heading north toward the cabin she’d left behind.

  A pinpoint of warmth stung the corner of her eye and she rubbed the tear angrily. She didn’t have time for this.

  Scooping a small handful of water, she splashed her open mouth. Felt the freezing water numb her lips. Gave a grunt as she wiped her hands on her pants and returned to the small camp.

  Ignoring the dark patches on the ground and the long drag marks stained with blood, the elf dropped heavily beside the fire and peered deep into the fiery maw.

  “Snow’s coming again,” the spellslinger moaned. He blew into his hands, rubbing them together and holding them out toward the fire. “I fucking hate snow. It’s fucking cold. You know, I think my balls are trying to roll up into my throat.”

  “Talek,” she said.

  The mage glanced at her, confused. “Huh?”

  “You asked if anyone ever told me I was fucked up. Talek did. Said I was fucked up. Told me all the time.”

  “He was right.”

  “Maybe. He was a good judge of character. Had to be in his position.”

  “Why? What was he?”

  “Kulsa’Jadean.”

  Chukshene frowned. “My elfish is mostly shit. And you Lostlighters aren’t exactly normal elfs. Kulsa what?”

  “Jadean. A guild. The Kulsa’Jadean are the King’s Guard.”

  “That means he was good, right?”

  “The best. He stood at Jutta’s right side.”

  “And you? You were a guard, too?”

  “Me?” Nysta snorted. “You see me guarding anything?”