Blade Of The Vampire King (Book 4) (10 page)

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.”

Nysta kicked the legs from the nearest skeleton. Still mindful of the approaching Grey Jacket. Could see another of the fresh corpses trying to pick itself to its feet.

“You'll have to watch your back,” the elf said. “It ain't just skeletons now.”

“Trust me. I can do this.”

“Count it, then.”

The Dhampir let out a frustrated roar, tiring of trying to avoid the heavy battleaxe's razor edge. It bunched itself to pounce. Like a cat about to finish the mouse.

The skeletons trickled forward.

A third undead Grey Jacket emerged from the shadows, trailing the ruin of an arm torn from its torso.

“One.” Melganaderna's voice was firm. “Two. Three. Go!”

The Dhampir leapt, a heaving mass of muscle and claw.

Nysta threw herself around the young woman. Twisted hard and ducked under the Dhampir's lashing arms. One of which it lost to Melganaderna's lightning-fast battleaxe. Drew a bestial squeal of agony from its inhuman throat as its limb flopped to the ground.

The claws twitched twice, then were still.

Melganaderna let out a yell of triumph. Whirled hard on her heels. Scattered the closest skeletons with a cyclonic sweep of the axe. Unable to correct her grip, she was satisfied to use it like a club, pulverising bone as the flat of the double-blade crushed through them.

Nysta sprinted for the bowl.

Behind her, the Dhampir didn't pause to reflect on its lost arm. As though knowing what was happening, it scrambled away from the axewoman and sought the elf. Not fast, but fast enough. Blood squirted from the stump.

A crazed pattern of red on the floor.

Melganaderna tried to follow, but more skeletons snatched at her cloak and dragged her back. Jagged bone fingers tearing through cloth in search of flesh.

She had time to let out a strangled cry before the Dhampir dove desperately at Nysta's whirling back. Claws glinting.

The Ugly
left the elf's hand. A wingless steel butterfly caught in the sudden braking passage of time as she wrenched herself out of reach of the crazed Dhampir. Boots scattering bones along with her curses.
 

Melganaderna's mammoth axe circled fast, ripping through her cloak to free herself of the skeletal grip. With mechanical skill, she spun the axe in her hands to bring the heavy blade up and obliterate a skeleton blocking her path.

Snarling, she flashed forward. Hungry to drench the edge of her battleaxe in the Dhampir's blood.

But the Dhampir was also hungry for blood. Its insatiable need combined with desperation to gave it a burst of speed beyond normal. Its claws blurred, aiming for the elf's torso. Looking to rip her in two. The creature's roar of rage blasted into Nysta even as she watched
The Ugly
clip its target by less than a sliver of metal.

The candle flickered inside as the delicate-looking bowl trembled on its pedestal in the knife's wake.

Nysta rounded, seeing the Dhampir's savage bulk hurtling toward her.

Grinned.

Threw
A Flaw in the Glass
with all the force her arm could muster.
 

All this in a fragment of a second. A blurring maelstrom of chaos merging to create a dance of seamless violence within the bowels of the mountain whose spine was the epicentre of the cursed range known as the Bloods. A mountain which had once embraced a goddess as she fell screaming from the sky.

A Flaw in the Glass
tumbled in the air. Clumsy from a distance, it was never meant to be thrown. It flew like an axe blade free of its handle. Its weight drove the blade clean through the creature's blazing red eye and beyond the hard bone socket to sink deep into its primitive brain.
 

Its claws kept coming even as it let out a shriek. Even in death, its hatred acted to spur its dying body forward.

Would have buried its scything claws in her guts.

Should have.

But Melganaderna's battleaxe came out of nowhere as the howling axewoman landed on the creature's back. She swung the axe down with all her strength. Its curved edge splashed into the Dhampir's head with terrific force. Creamed through its skull and kept going. Hewed through bone, brain and meat to emerge gushing from beneath its jaw. Chopped into the ground with a loud crack of steel meeting stone, pinning the creature in place.

Blood sprayed its agonised message in crimson streaks across the wall.

Melganaderna struggled to keep a grip on the long hilt. Struggled because the undead creature thrashed and bucked to get free before crashing in a sodden heap in front of the elf. Gave one last exhale of putrid breath as a torrent of blood gurgled from its jaws, forcing Nysta to take a light step back to avoid more gore splashing onto her boots.

Behind her, the cup continued to spin.

The sound of it echoed in the small cavern. A gentle, almost cheerful sound.

Nysta held her breath.

The skeletons opened their mouths in wordless screams. Screams made more potent by their lack of sound.

Then the bowl dropped from the pedestal with a delicate crash, shattering into thin clay pieces. The stained candle rolled, extinguishing itself with a frustrated hiss.

Wax bled quietly, cooling fast.

As one, the skeletons and lifeless corpses of the Grey Jackets dropped like puppets whose strings had been cut. The collective clatter rang through the cavern, making the elf wince.

She breathed again

Nodded wordlessly to Melganaderna, who returned the nod before putting boot to the Dhampir's motionless head and beginning the arduous and messy task of removing her axe from its skull.

The elf reached out. Took
A Flaw in the Glass
and slowly drew it free of the corpse's eye socket. The enchanted blade flared brightly as it was freed from its gory sheath, venomous green light warming her face.
 

She smiled at the knife, feeling the scar itch on her cheek.

Looked around for something to clean the blade with.

While Hemlock paused mid-cast, hands alight with green energy.

Chukshene, caught between awe and amusement, struggled to keep the weakened necromancer on his feet. The warlock shook his head. “Shit,” he said. “They really are like two peas in a fucking pod.”

The elf moved toward the remnants of the little bowl. Nudged the pieces with her foot and let out a grunt.

Wiping her blade on the Dhampir's thick fur, Melganaderna breathed hard. Frowned suddenly and looked over at the elf. “You went for the men before the skeletons.” It wasn't quite an accusation. “Even though the skeletons outnumbered us all. You didn't think of helping them?”

“Ain't never had anything against the dead,” the elf said. Spat a thin stream of spit at the pedestal. “It's the living who're more dangerous.”

“And you don't feel bad about it? Just because of where they're from, you butchered them first?”

“Reckon we both accept you were queen of the same kind of fellers I just put down. Now, so far I ain't got nothing against you. On account of you saying you didn't want to be a part of them anymore. That you ain't their queen.”

“That's right.” She glanced at Hemlock, who was trying to pull himself upright and was leaning heavily on the warlock. “I wanted other things.”

“You headed back south any time soon?”

“No.” The young axewoman narrowed her eyes, not wanting to reveal too much. “We're going north. Beyond the wall. We need to get away from Rule. And the bastard who now calls himself king. I told you that. Nothing's changed.”

“And them fellers, if they caught you? If they took you back to where you're from. You reckon they'd kill you?”

“Kill me? That'd be the best thing they could do.” Melganaderna's smile was bitter as she wiped sweat from her chin. “No, Long-ear. They'll do worse than kill me. I'm sure of that. But that doesn't change anything. They were just soldiers. Doing what they were told to do. They're not evil for that.”

“Feller near your feet with the hole where his guts used to be? Called me Tainted. Now, I know for sure they wanted me dead. And I've seen how they kill my kind. It ain't usually quick.” She leaned against the cold stone wall of the cavern and eyed the young woman. “You come from a palace. Got yourself fed well, and most likely had a lot of chances other people don't get. You're educated, too. Not just in how to swing that over-sized hatchet you've got there. Reckon you were raised on morals. On what was right. What was wrong. Rich people usually are, which is why they're very good at sending people to die for those morals. But I ain't seen a rich person out here dying for their beliefs. And I ain't ever seen a moral killing. Ain't no morals in war. Just a fight to survive any way you can.”

“What's this? A philosophical killer,” Hemlock coughed.

“Of course,” Chukshene said cheerfully. “Don't underestimate Nysta. She's more than just an ugly face.”

“Don't listen to her, Melgana,” the necromancer called. His voice gained some strength, but he still clung to the warlock for support. “That kind of bleak thinking makes you worse than anything Scarrow ever did. Worse than your father!”

The young axewoman glanced at him.

Then back at the elf, the pink tip of her tongue gliding thoughtfully across her lip. “You're lying,” she said. “They were dangerous, no matter what you say. And you know it. But you completely ignored the skeletons. Didn't even blink at them until the Accepted were dead. I'm sure the mage over there would tell us it's because you hate Accepted. And I can understand that, being what they are. And what you are. But that wasn't it. You went after them first because of me. You didn't trust me to kill them. You thought I'd kill the skeletons and maybe end up talking to the Accepted. Maybe join them.”

“Like I said. It's a fight for survival.”

“Any way you can?”

The elf allowed the crooked grin to form. “Any way I can.”

“I'd have killed them,” Melganaderna said. Her voice was cool but her dark eyes tried to swallow the world. “I would have. If they'd tried to take me back. Or if they'd tried to kill me. But I thought they'd focus on the skeletons, too. Until the end. And I thought we could use that to our advantage.”

“That's your mistake. You thought they'd thank you when it was over. Maybe they'd regret tracking you. Let you go, even. Well, they wouldn't. Could be they'd have said the words. But then their brains'd start thinking. And they'd jump you. Kill the rest of us and take you where you don't want to go. You did right in seeing the Dhampir as the biggest threat. But it was chowing down on Grey Jackets. It wasn't smart enough to see us until you put yourself in front of it. The skeletons were a nuisance. They can't think, and don't have the strength to do much unless you let them surround you. So, don't get surrounded.” She pushed herself from the wall and ran her fingers through her hair. Suddenly felt tired. “It was only the living we had to worry about. You have to remind yourself they ain't your people any more. They're your enemy. Count them out like that again, and chances are you'll be dead a lot quicker than you think.”

Hemlock opened his mouth to snap something, but the young axewoman's voice easily cut him off. “You're right.” She turned to the necromancer. “She's right, and you know it, Hem. They're not going to stop chasing us. Never. Scarrow will follow me to the ends of the earth. If we want them to stop, we've got to be more ruthless than they are.”

“Oh, Melgana.” He sounded pained by her words. “What are we becoming?”

She moved close to take over from Chukshene as the necromancer's support.

Smiled at Hemlock's expression as she slid under his arm. Didn't seem to mind the gore sliding from the head of the brutal axe hanging almost weightless in her other hand. “Whatever we're becoming, Hem, at least we're becoming it together.” She pressed a finger to his lips before he could speak. “We chose this path. And no matter where it leads, or how dark it gets, I'll never regret a single step I've taken for you. So, don't argue. Or I'll think you're beginning to regret coming with me.”

The necromancer shook his head, his body relaxing in her arms. He hesitated, but only for a split second. Long enough for his eyes to drink in her smile. “Never. Not for a minute.”

“Well, then,” she chuckled impishly. “Shut up and enjoy the journey. We've still got a long way to go.”

Chukshene wandered close to the elf, his eyes twinkling with curiosity as he eyed the shards of the broken bowl.

“Congratulations, Nysta,” he said softly. Knelt to pick up one of the fragments and raised it to his nose to sniff. Made a face at the awful smell of its contents. “You did it again. Kept us alive, I mean.”

The elf dragged her eyes away from the embracing couple, feeling a flush of irritation at the spellslinger's voice which seemed to ignite a scurrying sensation down the back of her spine. Like a flood of worms writhing against her flesh. Pushed the feeling away even as she said; “Reckon on this occasion, it'd be more accurate to use the royal we.”

CHAPTER EIGHT