Blade Of The Vampire King (Book 4) (24 page)

And then it would kill them.

So she needed to kill it first. Needed to break its magical bonds.

But for that, she'd need a miracle. A point of weakness. Until she figured that, she wanted to keep Melganaderna's battleaxe in reserve. Wanted the creature to be surprised by a sudden attack by the young axewoman.

Surprised enough to die. Fast.

The rotting skull snapped its teeth as it tried to catch her arm between its jaws. Evil breath exhaled over her, the stink of rotten meat and putrid bone. Of liquefied organs and the horror of the Shadowed Halls in all their deathly glory.

“It breathes,” she hissed, throwing herself out of its reach and landing on all fours. Splayed across a small mound of torn books, the elf's violet eyes glittered with renewed hope as she reminded herself of her mantra.

If it breathes, it can be killed.

Words of power rushed from the warlock's mouth as the creature lumbered toward her.

Acrid magic and foul death clashed in her nostrils.

Magic won.

A torrent of energy crackled from the warlock's open hand, enveloping the creature with sickening yellow plasma. It melted into flesh, chewing through steel and spitting pus as it ran in rivers inside its dead flesh.

And it stopped.

Aimed its skull toward the blackened ceiling and shrieked its agony with whatever shreds were left of its soul.

Arm, limp at its side. Torso shaking spasmodically.

Slime crawling down its legs.

The jangle of steel on steel as it shook.

Still searching for any sign of weakness in the creature, the elf caught sight of a muted green glow deep in the back of its screaming throat.

Dark.

Almost not there at all. Hidden within the shadows of its undead flesh.

“Skull!” She shot Melganaderna a look, satisfaction already surging in her veins as she anticipated the Shadowed Halls taking another twisted soul. “I want its head apart. Split it open if you can.”

“If I can?” The young woman stepped forward, mouth set in a firm line. “I'll tear the fucker down to its ass.”

“To its shoulders will be fine.” She shot the warlock a glare and called; “Hit it again.”

The warlock was clenching his fists and bent down on one knee.

He didn't argue. Just let out a whimper and nodded.

Lifted his arm and moaned more words of power. Each word uttered with a cringe as the agonised spellslinger prepared to feel the backlash of casting without a grimoire.

When the splash of molten yellow plasma powered into the creature this time, it wasn't as powerful as the first. But it was still enough to make it fall onto its knees, held upright only by its massive arm which pounded at the broken ground.

It squealed, a high-pitched sound which was more alien than natural.

Melganaderna rushed in, but was driven back as the creature reeled around on its knees, swinging wildly. Its steely arm slapped
Torment
aside and it kept spinning, thrashing, and screaming.

Grunting in frustration, the elf edged close, but it had enough awareness to take a swipe at her. Its driven purpose to kill all that was keeping it from falling apart.

It was a weak swing, but its claws were long and dangerous. And the flesh, which had peeled away beneath Chukshene's blasts of magic, revealed more rows of daggers and swords. Blades with edges like broken fangs.

She knew if the arm hit her right, even once, it would shred her body and leave her in ribbons. She spat another curse, disappointed the warlock hadn't been able to render it as helpless as she'd wanted. She'd hoped it would fall like a turtle on its back. Instead, it was a wolf caught in a trap. Jaws ready to snap and claws ready to tear through flesh.

Melganaderna kept her eyes on the creature's back as she circled it.

Mail armour flickering in the bright torchlight. Already sparking red as though wet with blood. Eyes wide, the young axewoman looked revolted by the creature, but also eager to cleave its head in two as she'd promised.

She licked her lips. Didn't blink as sweat dripped down her brow.

Torment
glowed its eldritch purple glow, and the elf could hear a low hum from the two broad blades as though it was also thirsting to kill.
 

But the creature's awareness was enough to know its death was being planned.

It waited, arm at the ready. Knowing its position as hunter had been stripped too easily. Maybe somewhere in its tormented awareness, it had always wanted to die. But just as strong was the irrational will to survive and the desire to kill.

Breaths heaving like a blacksmith's bellows, its primitive gaze flicked this way and that. The elf worried the creature would still be fast enough to take out the young axewoman before she got her chance to split its head wide open.

She needed to distract it.

Slowly, the elf sheathed her knives and reached down. Picked up a book. Its spine still hard, though the pages were little more than soggy ashes.

Hefted it. Weighed it in her palm.

Then threw it at the enraged creature's head.

“Fuck you, you piece of shit,” she spat. Threw another book. “Get up! Come at me!”

It tried.

One leg gave way, the knee splintering with a wet crunch. Loosened blades skittered across the ground.

The other struggled to keep its weight. The dark pitiless sockets in its skull stared through her with so much hate she felt it warm the back of her spine.

She tossed another, catching its cheek.

It screamed.

Another hit its chest, the covers of the damaged book fluttering like batwings as it was thrown.

Each time, it reached out with savage claws.

Letting Melganaderna inch closer.

Until it finally managed to get its single good leg to bear its weight. Held its balance for a brief moment before the monstrous head leaned toward the elf and it let out another mindless roar.

She threw another book. Spat a wet stream at it, which splashed against its skeletal jaws.

It took the bait.

“Shit,” the elf grunted as the huge creature lunged. It couldn't run because one leg was shattered, but it still had the strength to send itself rolling toward her in an avalanche of old flesh and broken steel.

She had to dart away, pushing herself out of its reach and feeling the savage blade claws whistle past her ear. Felt a sharp pinch of pain as one nicked the back of her neck to draw a thin splash of blood.

She dove to the ground, her already-aching shoulder protesting as it took her weight. Yelled; “Now!”

And Melganaderna brought
Torment
down. The heavy axe met the top of the creature's skull and sheared through bone and steel alike. Travelled down its jaw and throat, angling off to its right and severing the arm as cleanly as if it were clay.
 

One side of its head burst free and landed with a wet crash on the ground at the axewoman's feet. Black slime sputtered free as it wheeled around, still refusing to die.
 

Gul'Se shrieked from the darkness, spewing threats and curses. The walls and ground thundered with her voice, each blasted syllable rising higher and more desperate than the last.

The elf hit the agonised creature from behind, feeling something sharp drill into her thigh.

But she was close, now. She could feel it.

Could feel the creature's death bleeding into the room.

Had to hang on as it tried to shrug her off. Tore more skin as the blades writhed against her.

Yanked hard on its shoulder, pulling at chunks of cold dead flesh. Ignored the pain of many cuts as she reached between the shattered blades so she could at last search toward the ruined stump of its head. One hand, wrapped around an old sword's blade, slipped a little and bright crimson mingled with the creature's filth.

Melganaderna hacked at the creature's torso, her battleaxe chewing into steel. But the swords were too thick so she wasn't doing the damage she'd been hoping for. Still, she swung the mighty axe with all her strength again and again. Keeping the creature confused as it tried to focus on both its attackers at the same time.

The elf managed shove her free fist deep into the gore above its neck. Dug around, fingers pushing through thick muscle and cold cords of tendon until they found something small. Something different.

An orb throbbing inside its throat.

She yanked it free, feeling it bubble and hiss in her palm as its connection to Gul'Se's creation was severed.

Whatever the creature had been, it died without a whimper. Just dropped and fell apart, rust-spotted swords clanking in shock as they showered down to rest inside a puddle of thick putrid slime.

Leaving Nysta standing in its liquefied entrails, still gripping a broken sword in one hand and a darkly-glowing orb in the other.

Which she looked at with a grimace. Slick with black gore, the glowing orb resembled something of the yellow orb which Chukshene often used to light his path. Gelatinous and cold.

But darker. Like an emerald left in shadow. Just looking into its swirling depths made her uncomfortable.

Feeling eyes on her, she turned slightly and saw Hemlock looking up at her as though waking from a long sleep.

The necromancer lifted himself up onto one elbow and stared at the orb in fascination. Not knowing why, she resisted the urge to crush the foul thing and instead flung it toward him. He snatched at it as it rolled along the ground. “How-?”

But the elf had turned her attention to Melganaderna, who stood beside the ruins of Gul'Se's revenge and was breathing hard.
Torment
's purple light flickered brightly for a moment, then dulled.

The young woman didn't notice. Her eyes were on the puddle of gore. “What the fuck was that thing?”

“Once upon a time? Maybe a troll. Reckon that was a long time ago, though. Does it matter?” The elf wiped her hands on her pants and dropped the broken sword. Didn't bother looking at her fresh wounds. Limped instead toward where Chukshene was dry-retching as he clutched his head.

She didn't touch him. Didn't reach for him. She had no physical comfort to offer.

Just stood watching as he whimpered.

Felt the bubbling echoes of her rage calling her to lift his sweat-drenched head and slit his throat. Her violet eyes burned in their sockets as the image of him holding Talek's Cage in his hand flickered in her mind.

She had to kill him.

Had to.

Rigid in place, the elf kept staring down at the warlock, feeling hatred force her fingers tight around the hilt of
Entrance Exam
sheathed at her thigh.

Then said, through her teeth; “You did good, 'lock.”

“Fuck me, that was hard,” he said. He shuddered in waves. “Casting without a spellbook. It's dangerous. So dangerous. Sure, we know a few tricks. Everyone knows one or two tricks. But they're just tricks. Small things. You know. Light a candle with a wave of your hand. Zap your friends at parties. Lift a barmaid's skirt with a well-timed gust of wind. That kind of thing. Not throw fucking fireballs of any real size. Not this. Shit, that was hard. My brain felt like it was folding in on itself. I nearly died, Nysta. I was so close I could fucking taste the food in the Shadowed Halls. Hear the music. Awful music. Don't they have any decent bards? Grim's blasted fucking toenails that was the worst thing I've ever done. Ever. I couldn't do it again. I just couldn't. Look at me! I'm fucked. Completely fucked. Shit. I can taste watermelons. Why can I taste watermelons?”

“We have to move, Chukshene,” she said. Forced herself to release her grip on the throwing knife. “Now, I need you to look after Hemlock. I need Melganaderna to fight whatever else is out there. Ain't sure what Gul'Se's got left to throw at us, but I don't thinks she's finished with us yet. You and the necromancer are useless to me right now. So, you keep an eye on him for her. Need her concentrating on keeping us alive right now. I don't want her distracted worrying about him.”

“I'll try.” He wiped at his mouth, wincing. “You don't know what this place must be like for him. Gul'Se's been playing with necromancy. That's obvious now. But in a way which even I can now feel calling to me. She hasn't just made
things
out of leftovers. She's raised the dead. Mutated them. Maybe that doesn't mean anything to you. But she's done worse than what we've seen. I know it. I can feel it in the walls now, too. Humming in the walls like it's a living thing. I don't know what she's done just yet, but I have a feeling we're going to find out. And, Nysta? I don't think even your boundless fucking energy is going to save us.”

She nodded. “Then wake him up, 'lock. We need him.”

“Fuck.” He looked over at where the necromancer was cradling the small orb. “Undead. Have I told you how much I fucking hate undead? They've got no business running around as though they're still alive. Worse than fucking goblins. Shit.”

The elf watched him move away. Suddenly felt tired as the slithering insect swarm retreated. She frowned, rubbing at her cheek and tried to focus her thoughts on what had just happened.

Tried to push thoughts of insects back into the box she'd put in her mind just for them.

“Do you think there's more of them?” Melganaderna hadn't moved, though her expression was calm. Not afraid. As though she'd simply come to an understanding and accepted the violence she'd unleashed. “More of this thing?”

“Fucked if I know,” she said. “Ask your necromancer. The 'lock and I saw something like it before, though. Long way from here. A big bastard with a back full of chains. The 'lock seems to think Vampire Lords played with dead things like they were toys, and I reckon that sounds about right from everything I know.”

“Sounds right to me, too.” The young woman shuddered, her axe still leaking black slime and gore. Her mail armour glistened wet. A smile suddenly toyed with her lips. “Good fight, though,” she said.

“Yeah,” the elf found herself grinning, too. She squeezed her fist, feeling the blood from her fresh cuts drip. Her fingers tingled slightly and a part of her knew the flesh was already knitting closed, though she refused to look. “Good fight.”