Blade Of The Vampire King (Book 4) (8 page)

His impatience to retrieve his book and anything else he could find, was making him gnaw on his fingernails.

She told herself it was because she didn't want to leave two Caspiellans to creep up on her when she wasn't expecting it, she grudgingly admitted to a level of curiosity she didn't normally possess.

She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about the pair intrigued her.

It resonated within her heart like the echo of a bell.

So she sat to one side and watched as Melganaderna lay close to Hemlock and wiped the cold sweat from his brow. Listened to the gentle murmuring of the young axewoman's voice, and endured Chukshene's thoughtful stare.

And waited for the necromancer to wake.

Many times she had to resist delving into the pouch where Talek's Cage lay hidden. Resist bringing it out and staring for long minutes at the spidery runes, hoping for some kind of explanation to worm its way into her brain. What had been inside it? And what was it now doing inside her?

She couldn't deny it any more. Couldn't pretend there was nothing. Even if she still refused to concentrate on the sensation of movement on her skin. Deeper even than that, sometimes. Within her muscle.

Something was there.

Hidden.

She pressed her fingers to her forehead and kneaded the pain above her eyes.

“Are you alright?” Melganaderna asked. Her voice was soft. Genuinely concerned.

The elf nodded. “Fine.”

“She's a woman of few words,” Chukshene explained when the young axewoman glanced at him in search of something more. “You'll find she's as blunt as a hammer most of the time, too. But don't worry about here. She'll be fine. Trust me. Tougher than an ogre's hide is Nysta. Smellier, too, so stay on the downwind side.”

Melganaderna didn't look convinced. “I'm not sure I can trust you, warlock. In turn, you don't trust us. That's why you chose to stay with us, isn't it? Because you don't trust us enough to leave us behind.”

This last was aimed at the elf, who nodded lazily. “Would you? All I know about you, kid, is you're a Caspiellan. And a queen, at that. Queens are supposed to be loyal to their people.”

For a moment, it looked like the young axewoman was going to scoop up her massive weapon and charge the elf. Her fingers twitched toward the handle, and her scowl left the air between them vibrating with spite.

But she didn't.

Instead, she took the elf's words with a bitter grunt and nodded. A sharp nod. “Yeah. I guess you're right, Long-ear. But you don't know much about me. Or what I'm like.” She looked down at Hemlock, who writhed in his sleep. “It wasn't an easy choice for either of us. And I know you might think we're just a couple of kids running from their parents. Maybe you think we're immature. Stupid. And you could be right about that, too. But, as you said, I should've been the queen when my father was cut down in his bedroom. Cut in half, he was. Right down the fucking middle. So, the crown should be mine by right. But my brow wasn't made for it. I never wanted it. I was always comfortable with the idea of my cousin taking it. I just wasn't comfortable with the idea of him taking me with it. I left my home, Nysta. A place I loved. And I know I'll never be able to go back unless it's in chains. Maybe I'm selfish, but as far as I'm concerned, I don't think slavery should be rewarded with loyalty. Do you? I mean, what would you have done, if you were me?”

“I'd have walked away, kid.” The elf's eyes glittered bright. “Killed any feller stupid enough to get in my way, too.”

“Yes. That's what I did. Just like that. I killed everyone stupid enough to get in my way. And that's why I can't go back. It's also why you can trust me not to switch sides if we see any more of the Accepted.”

“No ifs about it,” Chukshene muttered. “We'll see them. Sneaky bastards could be anywhere.”

The elf agreed with a slight movement of her head, but said nothing as Hemlock suddenly sat up, eyes snapping open. Mouth working furiously as he was chased from his dreams by the restless debris of nightmare.

“Blood,” he cried, voice shimmering with terror. He gulped for air. Snatched at ghostly threads only he could see. “There's so much blood! It's everywhere.”

“Hem?” Melganaderna grabbed his face by his cheeks and turned him toward her. Pulled him close. “It's okay, Hem. It's a dream. Just a dream.”

“No,” he said. He clung to her like a child. “Not a dream. It was too real to be a dream. She was right there, Melgana. Right in front of me. I could almost touch her.”

“Touch her and I'll break your fingers,” Melganaderna murmured.

Chukshene moved closer to squat beside the necromancer. “Has she told you her name?”

The young man pressed his fingers to his eyes and pushed hard. Squeezing the light from his vision.

Drew his lips back into a frustrated grimace. “I can't remember. Something. It's right there. Right on the tip of my tongue, but I can't say it.”

Nysta watched Chukshene and Melganaderna fuss over the necromancer and, while her face was unreadable, her mind was a frantic whirl of emotions.

Part of her wanted to join them. To kneel beside the young man and press a hand to his forehead. To draw some of the fever from his brow.

Another part of her wanted to wander over and stab him in the face.

There was something eerily familiar in the way he'd sat up.

In the way he spoke. The frantic terror of his voice.

Grunting, she climbed to her feet and turned her face from them. Toward where the warlock's globule of light hovered patiently. Waiting for instruction to seek its next destination.

Suddenly irritated by the presence of the humans, the elf strode purposefully away.

Tucked her thumb behind one of her knives and scratched at the scar on her cheek with her other hand.

Scowled as she passed the shining orb.

“Nysta?” Chukshene arched his neck and frowned. “Where are you going? I thought we were waiting for-”

“I'm done waiting, 'lock.” The elf spat a wet stream at the ground in front of her. Rolled her shoulders to clear the tight feeling in her muscle. “Reckon there's a few fellers who headed this way. Figure they're set on dying. I'd hate to disappoint them.”

“Wait!” Melganaderna snapped at the elf's back as Chukshene rushed to collect himself and move after her. “Hey, you said you'd wait! We only need a moment.”

“Had more than a moment, girl,” Nysta said. “Long enough for Hyrax and his bastards to get further away from me than I like. Long enough also for my brain to think things I don't like thinking about.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe nothing,” the elf allowed. “But there's a time for waiting, and a time for moving. Time for waiting's over. Your feller's awake now. Get him on his feet and keep up. Or don't. All the same to me right now.”

Chukshene threw the young couple a rueful look. “You'll get used to it,” he told them, brushing dirt from his robe. “It's just the way she is.”

The elf didn't slow. She was already out of range of the sickly yellow glow, feeling a sense of comfort as shadows enveloped her.

A ribbon of irritation vibrated inside her spine like a fiddle's freshly-struck string. But far from feeling musical, it felt uncomfortable. The discomfort slid around her belly.

“Nysta,” the warlock panted as he caught up. “It's not really very nice to leave friends behind, you know. You might upset them. And they are friends, right?”

“I don't need them.”

“You never know,” he said, voice solemn all of a sudden. “We might. You see, I've been thinking. If anything's been living down here in the remains of Urak's Keep, then it's going to be twisted and fucked up. Strong, too. You remember how tough that last one was to fight? That creep with the chains and shit? Well, what if there's something bigger in here?”

“If it breathes, I can kill it.”

“Yeah, sure. I won't argue the optimism of that. But isn't it easier to kill monsters like that if there's four of us? That way you don't have to break all your knives. Maybe you'll end up only having to break one. Two at the most. Surely that's a good thing? I mean, you like your knives, don't you? Besides, this was your idea, remember? Joining up with them?”

“The Jukkala work in Hands. Small teams. Usually threes. Sometimes as many as five. They trained me well, so I've learnt a lot about teamwork, Chukshene.”

“Then you know what I'm trying to say?”

With a shake of her head, she ran her fingers through her hair. Snagged a few small knots of cloth. “Learnt I work better alone.”

Then she stopped as the rear wall of the tunnel showed itself to the dull yellow light of Chukshene's floating orb. Light which illuminated dozens of smaller caves leading into the mountain's solid core.

Some looked too small to squeeze through.

One, a short climb above most of the others, vomited a thin trickle of black slime. The same kind of slime which swirled in the pool. The elf shuddered.

Another amassed old bones in its mouth. Bones which now lay in a forlorn heap. A lone skull with its jaw missing stared back at her with mocking sockets, its unseen spirit no doubt amused by the decision she was now forced to make.

The elf felt impatience rising in her belly just to think of all her options. There were so many ways the Grey Jackets could have gone. How long would it take to explore all of them?

Which tunnel would be the best to venture into first?

And how old would she be when she found the right one?

Behind her, Melganaderna and Hemlock shuffled closer. Hemlock's breathing was strained, but the low mumble of the young axewoman's voice appeared to have calmed him.

They didn't look at the elf as they approached. Their gazes, too, were drawn to the many tunnels.

“Shit,” the warlock said. Nodded toward the couple and waved an arm at the wall. “Which way do you think we should go now?”

Which was when a volley of screams bounced from the ragged mouth of the nearest cave like a swarm of frightened bats.

The elf's grin was cruel and she glanced at the three humans with anticipation burning in her eyes. “This one.”

“Grim's guts, I knew you were going to say that.”

“Then why ask?”

“At the time, I didn't know,” he said drily. “But after the screams, I'd hoped you'd do the smart thing and pick another.”

“Ain't your lucky day, 'lock.”

“Can we get on with it, then? If we're going to die, I'd rather die before I piss myself.”

But the elf had already dived into the opening,
A Flaw in the Glass
spinning venomously in one fist,
Underling's Bane
in the other. 

Melganaderna moved as fast as she could, motioning for the warlock to take her place at Hemlock's side.

“Careful,” Hemlock rasped, accepting the warlock's help.

“I'm always careful,” Melganaderna said. Smiled as she hefted the massive battleaxe and darted into the cave after the elf. “You know that, Hem.”

The cave itself was tightly wound like a stone spring, sometimes wide enough for the young axewoman to think of swinging the over-sized weapon. Other times, she had to keep it tucked tight against herself to slide between two walls of rock.

She quickly caught up with Nysta, whose violet eyes were more easily able to see through the dark passage ahead of Chukshene's orb. The two spellslingers hurried to keep up, and the warlock's constant complaints hadn't yet left the elf's hearing.

Melganaderna, almost on the elf's heel, grunted as they worked themselves sideways through a tighter opening. “Do you always rush in like this, Nysta? Not even knowing what you're fighting?”

Another scream knifed through the dark and the elf frowned.

She didn't. While she'd never been known for having a tight grip on her patience, she'd always wanted to know what she was fighting. Without good reason, she'd never have burst blindly into anything.

It wasn't her way.

But the pressure steaming through her blood was too much. Aimless frustration was quickly turning to anger and it couldn't be bottled. Not this time.

The sounds of violence which clanged up from the cave were pulling her like a magnet.

“Move faster,” the elf hissed. “Or there'll be nothing left to kill.”

“It's not me slowing us down. You're the one not moving fast enough.”

“Oh, fuck,” Chukshene moaned as the spellslingers finally managed to catch up. “Another psychopath. Now I've got two of them.”

The screams grew louder.

More shrill.

Terror and pain combined to form a grotesque orchestra whose music clashed against the solid rock walls.

“Are you sure this is the smartest decision you've ever made, Nysta?” Chukshene shuddered. Sighed as a sharp finger of rock tore another hole in his robe. “Whatever the fuck it is down there, it's tearing them apart.”

Hemlock clutched the warlock's sleeve. “You think it's the Accepted?”

“Nysta?” Chukshene's voice was tight with exertion. The stone pressed against his cheek and he couldn't see past Melganaderna. “What do you think?”

The elf erupted from the tight passage onto a wide flat ledge. Was forced to a sudden stop as the ground fell away and had to cartwheel her arms to stop from falling. Though the drop wasn't far, she paused anyway to drink in the scene playing out.

Melganaderna, quickly behind, gasped and lifted her axe high. Its heavy blades gleamed with brutality. A kind of brutality which was easily justified. Because, given the size of the cavern they'd entered, the young axewoman was going to have the room to swing the battleaxe after all.

And the thought filled the young woman with a mix of dread and excitement.

Violence whispered its promises in clashes of steel and bone.

Hemlock staggered out of the cave next, eyes widening. Only Chukshene's managed to be any wider.

The elf wiped her mouth with the back of her fist. Felt the worms squirreling down her shoulders and arms. Under the bracers around her forearms.

She felt strong.

Satisfied.

Almost peaceful. As though she'd found her place in the world.

One of the Grey Jackets, close enough to see them enter the cavern, paled as he caught sight of her. His shriek rang out above the sounds of combat. “It's her!”