Blade Of The Vampire King (Book 4) (27 page)

His face was haggard, creased with stress.

Arms thin and hands held wide. Eyes shining in disbelief.

“You,” Hyrax croaked. “It can't be you. You're dead. You're dead!”

“Funny,” the elf said through her teeth. “That's just what I was about to tell you, Rabbit.”

“No!” His arm shot out and he let loose a bolt of gold energy. She was sure it would have melted her torso had it landed, but the cleric was still reeling and his aim wasn't sure. The bolt instead howled across her side and exploded as it punched into the wall.

Chips of stone spat at her.

The sound jolted the Grey Jackets into action and they leapt forward. Two went for Melganaderna. The other came lunging at the elf's guts.

Unable to witness the young woman's defence, but trusting in her ability, the elf chose to split the gap and headed to her right. Drawing the cleric's attention. Also hoped the Caspiellan spellslinger wouldn't throw more bolts of magefire at her if he thought he might hit his own man.

But this clearly didn't bother the desperate cleric, who sent beams of light screaming toward her. Intent on destroying her and forcing her not just to dodge the grim-faced soldier's slashing blade, but also the bursts of energy shot at her from the rear of the room.

“Chuk-” she began, but cut off when she saw the warlock dash past Melganaderna. His face was intent and eyes burning bright with determination as he ducked another bolt of the cleric's magefire.

“
Sharras Exilium
,” he snarled at the cleric. “Where the fuck is it?”

“What?”

Chukshene leapt on the cleric, fists pounding at Hyrax's jaw. “My grimoire, you motherfucking son of a putrid goat! Do you have any fucking idea what I fucking went through to get that fucking book? I had to walk through fucking Lifeblight. I fought a fucking Lich and his fucking skeletons with their fucking poison-coated fucking bones. I took a sword in my back. I ate fucking bugs to survive, and I killed the only fucking friend I ever fucking had! Give it to me, you fucking bastard! Give it to me or I'll fucking eat your fucking liver!”

The soldier's club clipped Nysta's forehead, drawing a sharp breath as she had to drop
Go With My Blessing
so she could snatch the arm which came snaking in toward her chest. She grabbed it above the wrist, stopping his knife only millimetres from her breast. Let out a heavy grunt as she wrestled him back a few steps.

Then aimed a kick at his knee, hoping to hear it pop.

Heard only a muttered curse as he twisted his leg to catch her boot on his thigh instead. Arched his torso to keep balance.

It wasn't enough to drop him.

But it was enough to make him desperate. The club arced, intent on finding her jaw. Forcing his defence to falter as he attacked while still trying to recover his balance.

A Flaw in the Glass
found his elbow first. The curved blade was delivered with a steely crunch which used the power of his own swing rather than any real effort from her. Pierced bone. Exited with a hot splash of blood and a scream torn from the depths of his lungs.
 

The elf stepped into him, releasing his other arm. Let him jerk it away from her while his gaze was trapped by the sight of
A Flaw in the Glass
embedded in his flesh. He didn't seem to know how to move the useless limb. Her hand snaked out. Wrapped strong fingers around his forearm, just below the gushing wound.

Wrenched.

Bone snapped.

Shrieking, the Grey Jacket dropped his dagger and fell to his knees. The long piercing shriek turned into a gurgling wail which ended only when the elf brought her knee crashing up into his chin. Teeth shattered and he managed a quick choking sob before she snatched hold of his hair and brought his head down one more time on her knee.

Something deep inside his head broke and he slumped into the ethereal arms of the Shadowed Halls.

The elf ripped
A Flaw in the Glass
free and saw the warlock sprawled to one side of the cleric. Chukshene was scrubbing his face to clear the blood which poured freely from his cheek and nose. But Hyrax looked worse.
 

Aiming a baleful glare at her, the cleric swept his gaze over the two men felled by Melganaderna.

Mindful of the shooting beams of light he could cast, the young woman was cautiously approaching the cleric,
Torment
held firmly across her chest. The massive crescent-shaped blades sheathed in fresh blood. Across her thigh, a thin line bled through a new cut in her pants.
 

With a contemptuous snort, the cleric aimed a hand at one of the men she'd killed, his chest split wide open, half his insides slithering free. White light vomited from his hand to envelope the Grey Jacket. The grizzled soldier let out a roar as he was healed, his soul shoved brutally back into a body still pulling itself together like a broken jigsaw puzzle.

Startled, Melganaderna danced away, eyes torn between the cleric and his newly-healed companion.

“Shit,” the young axewoman snarled, obviously unable to choose which to attack. “Didn't bet on that.”

“Life's a gamble, kid,” the elf said. Threw
A Bug in the Hand
. The broad blade spun twice then buried itself to the hilt in the freshly-raised man's head. He squealed and died again. The elf met Hyrax's livid glare. “Heads, you lose.”
 

“Tainted bitch.” He lifted his hands, fingers curling as magic snapped across his hands. Prepared to throw more magefire.

She stood her ground. Waited for him to make his move first. “Yeah. You called me that before. Getting pretty fucking sick of it, to tell the truth.”

He hesitated. Chewed his lip.

Looked over his shoulder toward an open doorway.

Began calculating his chances. But Chukshene dragged himself between the cleric and the exit, a pack in his hands. The warlock delved as he went.

Giggling darkly until his hands found what he sought.

“Willem?” Hyrax shouted over his shoulder, backing away. His eyes flicked from Melganaderna to the elf. To Chukshene. To Hemlock, who glided into the room in his cloak of black. The necromancer's face was unconcerned by any potential danger the cleric might pose. Hysteria pricked the cleric's voice. “Willem! Where the fuck are you?”

“Reckon he's left you here,” the elf said, knowing it was true as she said it. Felt a spark of disappointment at the thought. “Alone. To die. Must hate you almost as much as I do. Can't blame him, though, can you? I mean, you are a real bastard, Rabbit.”

“Fuck him,” Hyrax snarled. “I don't need him anyway. I'll deal with you first, Tainted whore. Then I'll do what I should have done a long time ago, and kill him. And his fucking lapdog, too.”

“How wicked of you,” the elf murmured.

Chukshene withdrew his grimoire.

Hugged it with glee.

Then aimed an evil look at the cleric. “So. Asshole? How do you want to die? Painfully? Or painfully-er?”

“Damn you all to Hell!” The cleric charged the elf, blinded by his hatred of her. Flashes of light ripped from his fingers, spinning in the air before splashing into the walls behind her.

Sparks danced from the freshly-burned wounds in the stone.

She ducked.

Writhed. Twisted her body so hard it almost snapped in two.

And every shot missed.

“Impossible,” he breathed as she came to a lethal halt in front of his nose. Face pale as he watched her move like a viper toward him. Mesmerised by her lethal gaze. “Nothing moves that fast.”

The elf's fist tightened around
A Flaw in the Glass
. “Your last mistake, feller,” she said as she brought the enchanted blade powering up into his abdomen. “Mistook me for nothing.”

He gasped.

She held his gaze, revelling in his agony.

But already he was trying to heal himself. Words skipped across his tongue. Words gifted to him by his god. Blessed words. Words which had saved his life so many times he no longer had to think about them.

“Can't kill me,” he gasped as his body glowed brightly beneath his skin. Blood trickled from his mouth. “Rule has blessed me. I am blessed. Chosen. You. Can't kill me.”

“Heal then, you bastard,” she growled. Jerked the blade upward, feeling the point search for his heart. Drew a cry from his soul as she twisted the enchanted steel through the meat of his chest. “Heal. And let me kill you again. And again. And a-fucking-gain.”

Then Hemlock put his hand on the cleric's shoulder. Thin fingers gently squeezing. “Your spells are strong, Accepted,” he said. Voice was soft. Like silk whispering in the wind. A caressing wave pouring into the cleric's ears. “They are Rule's new magic, brought with him from another world. My magic is older. I see it, now. The division between the two. It comes from somewhere beyond your understanding. Somewhere so close to you, yet so far away you couldn't see it if it was right in front of your nose. You are Rule's cleric. A master of life. But I am a master of death. Feel my gift to you.”

And with a few muttered words of power, veins of inky darkness spread from the necromancer's hand, burning like acid through the cleric's clothes and into his skin.

Climbing up his shoulder and neck.

Searching for his mouth with grasping roots. A slurp of melting flesh.

“No,” Hyrax struggled, but
A Flaw in the Glass
held him where he was. Pinned to the moment of his approaching death. “No. This cannot happen. I know who you are. Traitor! Hear me, and be judged. You are a traitor to your god, Martin Hemlock. A base and deceitful liar. You murdered your King. You turned your back on the Lord of Light, and you have abducted the rightful Heir. You put your foul enchantments on her to force her to obey your whim. You corrupt everything you touch. But I am protected! Your evil cannot hurt me. You'll see. Hear me, Queen Melganaderna! Hear me. Don't let him win. Fight the darkness, Lady! Fight it! Strike down the Evil One and return to Rule's forgiving embrace.”

The black threads grew long barbed thorns which dragged at the cleric's skin.

Blood erupted.

And where the flesh was opened, the threads drilled deep.

The elf was both fascinated and horrified. They reminded her of Gaket's tendrils. Though they were not the same, they were enough alike to fill her mind with memories of the icy wave of shadows and the feeling of insects crawling across her body.

Revolted, she released the handle of her blade, letting the cleric tumble to the ground.

He writhed. Blood gushed from his body in crimson torrents. He tore at the black threads with increased frenzy, shouting his curses.

Begging to his god. Then screaming.

And screaming.

And screaming.

Until Melganaderna brought
Torment
down in a fatal arc of dark purple light and cascading crimson.

“Fuck you,” she growled as Hyrax's head rolled away. Used her free hand to explore a growing bruise on her cheek. The thin slit across her thigh continued to bleed slowly. And she looked tired. “Piece of shit.”

Nysta stared at the corpse, unable to move.

Could feel the cold call of Talek's Cage in her pocket. Could hear the warlock breathing on the other side of the room. Hear him murmuring as his fingers turned the pages of his precious grimoire.

He giggled.

And she wanted to rush over to him.

Tear his throat out with her fingers. Reach through his torn throat and find his spine. Rip it.

Rip it free.

Drink his blood.

Could almost taste the mercurial taste of it. Hot and spiced on her tongue.

Heart smashing in her chest. Pulse pounding through her skull. Driving her. Eyes burning. Mouth dry and lips pulling back as she prepared the animal snarl growing in the back of her throat.

What had he done to her?

“Nysta?” Melganaderna was watching her, a small frown courting her brow. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” the elf said, feeling the flood of emotions shatter like a glass dropped to the tiles.

She shook her head. Wiped a hand across her face to clear the sweat. Then dropped to her knee and took hold of
A Flaw in the Glass
.

Yanking the blade free, she caught sight of something glimmering beneath the ruins of the cleric's robe. Curious, her fingers found a small medallion hung round his still-smoking neck by a leather thong. She pulled it free, wiping the wet gore from the leather.

Turned it over in her fingers a few times. It looked like a simple disc of pale gold. Small runes etched into it and an odd grooved pattern across its back. Wondering if it might be worth something, she shoved it into one of her many pouches before cleaning her blade on his robe and getting to her feet.

The necromancer stood thoughtfully in the centre of the room, looking like he was trying to remember something. He rolled the dark green orb between his fingers. He seemed to have forgotten all about Hyrax.

Cocked his head as though catching a sound no one else could hear.

Also blissfully unaware of what was happening around him, Chukshene had managed to forget his bleeding face. Had scrubbed at it a few times with the cuff of his sleeve, but was otherwise bleeding freely without a care in the world now he was leaning against the wall with his grimoire in hand.

He caught her glance and offered a toothy grin, which she turned away from before the boiling hatred for him made her run across the room and stab him in the face just to see him bleed a whole lot more.

Melganaderna crouched near the young man Nysta had killed first. The young woman winced as she looked up to the bloodstained corner of the doorway. “That had to hurt,” she said, remembering the sound of the youth's skull cracking open. “Why didn't you just, you know, stab him?”

The elf shrugged. “Feller over there called him Ahod. Made it so I couldn't resist getting all my hands on him. Reckoned the natural thing to do was deck him. Sometimes you've got to do what feels right. Kind of how you being a queen made you do what you did to the rabbit over there.”

The young axewoman cocked her head. “I don't understand.”