Blade Of The Vampire King (Book 4) (20 page)

It pulsed.

Once.

Twice.

And began to fade as she let out a gasp, her mouth vomiting slime and her eyes rolling in their sockets as she fought to breathe.

Agony streamed along her nerves, shooting up her spine. It blasted into her brain and left her writhing on the bank. Gurgling moans forced between clenched teeth. Spitting out more of the rancid green fluid than she thought her lungs could have held.

Miraculously, she'd kept hold of
A Flaw in the Glass
. The blade flickered, almost despondently as she let it fall from her fingers. The elf curled up on her side and clutched at her ribs. Everything hurt.
 

Everything.

She lay there, unable to move. Unable to think. How long, she couldn't tell, but long enough for the pain to begin to ebb and then the comfort of sleep drove her swinging into a second round of darkness. A round that wasn't as empty as the one before.

Instead, her brain was peppered with fragments of memory.

Memory torn from hidden folds in her mind and stripped bare.

Laid out before her to soak up fear like a sponge.

Her first kill.

The handmade shiv in her fist. Blood between her fingers. A choking sound in her victim's throat as the small blade cut his ties to this world.

The smell of apples moments before Talek had taken her hand and together they'd jumped off the waterfall. Dropped to the uncertain foam below. Fought the whitewash until she found herself tumbling among the rocks.

And Talek, just behind her. Laughter choking loose between gasping breaths.

That feeling of being alive.

Taste of apple in her mouth. Skin a field of goosepimples in the icy water.

Scowling at him, but the hairs on her neck prickled in excitement.

Overwhelmed, the elf groaned in her sleep. Unaware of the green slime brushing curiously against her legs. The shadows, perhaps tiring of her, moved back into the sullen depths. Away from even the faintest light on the surface.

Gul'Se's crooning voice whispered to her sleeping body.

“
I see you there
.
You cannot hide from me, Child of Veil. It tries to bring you to me. It hopes you will set it free. But you won't. It is ours. It was always ours by right. His chains will bind it here forever
.”
 

Inside her dreams, the world was silent. Stifling. Dark.

She reached up, hands tearing through dirt. Clawing at the darkness. Pulling free. Her arm shot out, breaching the endless black. Dawn's pale light bathed her eyes. Snow dropped down onto her face, but she kept climbing upward.

Hauling herself from the ground.

Screaming to the wind.

Words in an alien tongue.

Her skin. From the tips of her fingers, all down her arms.

Black.

Blacker than the shadows from which she'd crawled.

She screamed again.

And again. Screams of sheer insane hatred which gutted her of all other emotion as she aimed her face at the sky.

Rage fragmented everything as the elf's eyes snapped open and she flew to her feet. Hands unconsciously snatched
A Flaw in the Glass
and she spun around and round on the slippery bank, eyes searching for the source of her pain as she kicked up mud.
 

Then, finding herself alone, she dropped to her knees. Wearily sheathing the blade at her hip.

“Fuck,” she breathed, throat raw from screaming. Ran her fingers through her hair. Looked down at the river's sludge and winced.

She remained there for a long time, fingers exploring parts of her body which still felt swollen and sore. Wondered how she'd managed to land without breaking every bone in her body. And also how she'd found the shore.

It must be a miracle, she thought with a twist of her lip.

Or a curse.

At the thought, she felt the rage bubble in her guts again. Even hotter as she found herself wondering what had happened to Chukshene and the two Caspiellans.

Caspiellans. She had to remind herself that's what they were. The enemy.

Not friends.

Yet, she could remember Melganaderna's terrifying axe as it swept the Grey Jackets back. Protecting her from their swords.

They'd fought together.

Bled together.

Surely that's not what enemies did.

She shook her head, squeezing eyes shut until she could see stars glittering inside her eyelids.

Nothing was making any sense. Life had been simple, once. But since opening Talek's Cage, everything was confusing.

She slowly pulled herself to her feet. Swayed a little as dizziness combed her brain. Reached out and leaned against the wall of the Keep. Heavy stone walls with mould gripping its sides. The same dark mould which clung to the stones beneath her boots.

And stained her jacket.

The elf pulled her hand from the icy slickness and looked around. Wondered where she could go from here. Didn't want to get back into the awful river.

Looking around, she could see a small grate a little further down. It looked to be clinging on by its hinges.

Hinges eaten by rust.

Grimacing, she headed for it. Rubbed at a stream of mostly-dry blood which dribbled from a gash on her forehead. A gash she didn't know had healed faster than it should.

Her thoughts continued to be muddled with emotions she was struggling to maintain. They turned over the same thoughts. The thirst to kill Hyrax. The need to kill the traitorous elf. To kill Chukshene. Maybe even the two he travelled with.

Hemlock and Melganaderna. A strange couple, even for Caspiellans.

She'd known many Caspiellans.

She hadn't killed every single one she'd met. The Deadlands, after all, knew no loyalties. But she should feel more hate for them. Especially Melganaderna. A spoiled princess, even by her own admission.

Yet she found more rage inside for Chukshene. A man who'd saved her life more than once.

A spellslinger, she reminded herself. A mage.

Then why not feel the same incandescent rage toward Hemlock? He was a Caspiellan spellslinger. She should have buried
A Flaw in the Glass
in his guts ages ago.

The elf sighed, battling to stop the whirlwind within from tearing her apart.

Closed her mind to her emotions and instead tried to focus on one thing at a time.

Everyone she wanted to kill was either entering or already inside Urak's Keep. Those who'd survived, anyway.

Her violet eyes thinned to slits. Her plan was simple. Get inside.

Then kill. Kill them all.

Her skin crawled as something wriggled between her flesh and the bracer on her left arm. Absently, she tugged on the laces to tighten it.

Yeah, she thought. Kill them all. Maybe that would be easier than putting up with the storm inside her head.

She found the grate gripped stubbornly to the wall. Had to give it a few good kicks to force it to let go. It gave a squeal of metal as the last hinge wrenched from the stone.

A few sparks stuttered from where the metal popped loose, sending her skipping back with a frown. But when no more were ejected, she returned to reach out and tear the grate free with a grunt. Tossed it into the river where it landed with a heavy splash.

The elf squinted down the narrow pipe which looked big enough for her to crawl through on her hands and knees. Wondered if this was the best option, before accepting it was the only one she was willing to entertain right now. For more reasons than she could put words to, she really wanted to get away from the glowing river of slime.

So she lifted herself into the opening and wrinkled her nose at the stench of decay which greeted her. A thin trickle of water dribbled down the pipe, carrying rancid filth in its wake. Now and then her hands touched something soft and cold and she was grateful there wasn't enough light to see what she was touching.

The narrow pipe angled upward for a distance, then seemed to fork.

She kept moving, doing her best not to absorb more filth into her clothes than she had already. Feeling repulsed with every movement she made.

Yet, despite the disgusting nature of the pipe's innards, the elf's relief increased the further she moved away from the river.

At a fork, she chose to take the left side, hoping it would lead deeper into the Keep. Also trusting her instincts which told her the left side's air was a little fresher. Which might hint at an opening somewhere along the way.

She paused a few times, catching her breath. The feeling of worms gripping her bones still hadn't abated, and she felt heavier than usual. As though her limbs were made of stone. Weariness threatened to make her lay down and give up, but it was revulsion at her surroundings which kept her moving.

The desire to escape the pipe's rotting grasp.

Finally, as her hope was beginning to dribble away, she caught sight of a subtle glimmer of light. A bare flicker which promised the comfort of a candle, or a torch.

Her vigor renewed, the elf shuffled quickly forward, mouth drawn back into a humourless grin as she advanced on the light. Found another grate.

Looking through, she could see she was high above the ground. Could see the room below. Its furnishings had long since given way to the ravages of time. A small torch flickered in the corner of the room, held in its place on the wall by a cobwebbed iron clasp.

She positioned herself against the grate and once more used her feet to kick it free. It sprang loose with a sharp tearing of metal and bounced along the stone ground below. Rattled itself to a halt against one wall.

The elf waited, ears straining for sign of anything disturbed by the shockingly loud sound, but heard nothing.

She backed out through the small opening, hanging from the pipe with her legs dangling. Realised only then just how high she was above the ground, but dropped anyway.

Landing painfully, the elf's roll was clumsy. Clumsy enough that she jarred her shoulder as she slammed down onto the ground.

“Shit,” she spat between her teeth, clutching at her upper arm. Slowly sat up, eyes flicking this way and that as she took in her new surroundings.

The walls were clean. The floor made of cracked tiles, some of which had worked themselves loose. Draping much of the rotten furniture were thick laces of cobwebs and more than a few layers of dust. The wall in front was stained. Mould scarred its damp face. Behind her, the pipe still drooled, leaving an inky stain beneath the opening she'd just dropped from.

Dark runes brushed the walls.

A language she couldn't read.

A language similar to those which adorned the box she carried.

It was only then that she noticed something which made her heart begin to race.

“No,” she breathed. Looked behind her. Left. Right. “Oh, fuck, no.”

She climbed to her feet. Felt pain stab her thigh as she hobbled quickly around the edge of the room. Began rubbing at the dust and debris which hugged the walls. Searching for something she knew she wouldn't find.

Hysteria writhed like an army of snakes between the bones of her spine as she realised this was a room with no doors. The pipe's meagre opening mocked from a place now too high to reach. The walls, too slick and smooth to climb.

She was trapped like a mouse in a glass box. This room would be her cell until she died.

Thought she could hear Gul'Se's ghostly giggle travelling through the room as she slumped again. This time against the wall. Gripping her aching shoulder, the elf closed her eyes and tried to stop the anger from taking the last shred of her sanity.

How could she be so stupid as to jump down without even looking for a way out?

“Reckon I should look on the bright side,” the elf growled bitterly, biting back tears of frustration. Scrubbed at the blood which stained her forehead and cheek. “On account of at least I won't be taking any more knocks.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The elf remained where she was, eyes moving slowly over the room's strange contents. How much time passed, she didn't know. Certainly more than a few hours.

The torch which hung in its place on the wall continued to burn. She had the feeling it would burn for many more centuries yet. Figured it'd been burning for twice that already. The thin acrid fumes betrayed its magical origin.

The walls continued to stare back at her. Implacable.

Unmoving.

No sign of any hidden doors. Just smooth wall.

And ancient runes in an alien tongue. Familiar only because they were similar to those which danced across Talek's Cage. Runes smeared along the wall opposite by the ravages of mould. But what they said was as much a mystery to her as the Cage itself.

“Cages,” she muttered. “Boxes. Rooms without fucking doors. Story of my fucking life.”

Closing her eyes for a moment, the elf wondered if she was destined to die in this room. Was it a trap meant to catch unwary trespassers such as herself? A prison?

It didn't feel like either.

Yet, if it wasn't, who would build a room with no doors? Why go to the effort of furnishing it?

The runes would tell the story, she thought. Maybe they even told how to leave. She'd heard of magical rooms which needed a special phrase to open their mysterious doors. Heroes often found themselves in such places.

They'd examine their surroundings.

Search for clues.

Then something would trigger, and they'd know as if by instinct. As if the answer had always been with them. A phrase told to them by an old wizard, perhaps. Whispered to them by an ethereal presence.

Dropped into their skulls by a god.

But all Nysta's gods were dead.

Veil, whom the elfs still mourned. Then Grim, the Dark Lord. Both fell to the Lord of Light. Both now had nothing to offer, so she offered no prayers.

And given Rule's hatred of elfs, she couldn't see him dropping anything into her skull other than a heavy stone.

She spat at the ground between her feet. Rested her arms across her knees and scowled so hard at the runes she almost thought they'd crumble in front of her.