Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2) (12 page)

It was cold, she thought. But the thick walls forming a near-dome above them had worked to keep what little heat existed inside and the air had a slight musty humidity to it that echoed the fog encircling the cursed fortress.

Ignoring the small huts, she was drawn by instinct to a longer building toward the rear of the fortress. She could see it sprawling behind the officers' huts. Figured it to be the main barracks.

A low rumble made her head snap around. But this time it was thunder, rather than some hidden mechanism, which made the ground shudder. Shrugging off the spark of panic, she kept moving toward the barracks.

“I fucking hate that,” the warlock muttered. “Thunder. At a time like this? It's creepy, I tell you. Fucking creepy.”
 

“Chukshene,” she whispered. “Reckon you'll be any quieter if I cut your lips off?”
 

“Alright, alright.” He fell back a few steps to put some space between them. “Fuck, you're touchy. I was just saying.”
 

She kept her voice low. “We don't know what's out here, 'lock. Don't even know where to begin looking. In this situation, only two things can happen. Either we find it first, or it'll find us. Only thing you're doing by flapping your jaw is making sure I don't hear it coming. One of my teachers had a saying. Say it in your head, or say it dead.”

“Sorry,” he said, trying to walk more softly.
 

“Don't be sorry. Be quiet.”
 

The warlock gave her a sharp nod, which she returned, before moving on. Winding between two of the small ruined huts, the elf touched one of the walls as she passed. Noticed scorch marks and raking scars in the stone beneath the slick moss.

More gouges ran like gutters across the ground. The elf tucked a thumb over the hilt of
Kindness
and squinted at the uneven ground.
 

Ignored the warlock poking his head curiously over her shoulder and gently used her foot to disturb a small mound of black huddled against the wall. Revealed the gleaming white of a skull. A massive hole in the side of its head was filled with rotted debris. The sour animal stink of old death was strong.

Chukshene stifled a gag by putting a hand over his mouth.

Wiping her hands on her jacket, she slid toward the mouth of the space between the two huts and peered at the barracks opposite. Tried to penetrate the shadows, but as far as she could see, the interior was a depthless void. Crouched low, ears straining for even the slightest sound.

Still her palm itched. She scratched at it irritably.

Then headed swiftly into the open and onto the wide porch opposite. Wood planks, unused to weight, creaked uncomfortably beneath her feet. The warlock followed cautiously, wincing as he worried the brittle wood might splinter beneath each creeping step.

The walls had held pretty well, so it was warmer inside than out, even though the door had been torn from its hinges and lay sprawled across the threshold. She stooped under cobwebs draped across the two bunks guarding the doorway and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Soon could make out the lines of bunks. Their bedding had mostly rotted to rags and a banner hanging from the far wall was little more than mouldy strips. A thick layer of dust covered everything, including the small chests squatting at the ends of each bunk for the soldiers to have stowed their gear.

She used the toe of her boot to pry one open and squatted to get a close look.

A few rolled up clothes stained with mildew. Random personal items of no interest to the elf. Couple of yellowed letters which would no doubt disintegrate in her fingers if she tried picking them up.

Nothing out of the ordinary, but she knew no soldier would have left their belongings behind. Not unless they were in a hurry.

“Nothing but shit,” he commented quietly. “You think they're dead?”
 

“Reckon so, 'lock,” she said. “Was a long time ago.”
 

“You know what I mean. You think they're part of the wall?”
 

“Fucked if I know. But I figure there'd be more blood if something was killing them. Maybe a few more bodies. Just looks like they left in a hurry. Could be that wall was built since the Godwars. After these fellers left.”
 

“And you know nothing about this place? A big fucking ruin which sprouts walls of flesh and maybe eats anyone stupid enough to get near it? Surely that's something to talk about on a cold Winter's night?”
 

The elf shrugged. “I don't talk much to locals.”

The warlock gave her a wry look. “Maybe you should start.”

She rose slowly, slapped her hands clean of dust and moved to the next chest.

Kicked it open.

More of the same. But her gaze was caught by smudges in the dust a few bunks up. Her eyes narrowed and she crept forward, touching her fingers to the marks in the dust.

Shot a look toward the warlock and pressed a finger firmly against her lips.

He nodded and lowered himself slowly into a crouch. Gently eased the grimoire open and licked his lips nervously.

Crouching low, the elf followed the disturbed dust and quickly found clear signs of bootprints. A low growl escaped her throat. She'd seen these prints before. Back at the house she'd built with her own hands. The house which now cast its shadow over the grave of her husband.

At first, she started to dismiss the prints as belonging to Torak and Neckless. But noticed there was no blood. Torak had been bleeding. She also figured he'd have been leaning on Neckless when they'd arrived. These prints were made by two men who weren't wounded.

The prints led to a second doorway. The elf slid up to the door and pressed herself against it. Listened through the brittle wood and heard little beside a slight hushing of a shallow breeze fluttering down from the narrow gap in the ceiling of the dome.

Looking back, she saw Chukshene moving slowly toward her. His book was open. Finger pressed to one page. Eyes wide and sucking at the light as desperately as his lungs sucked at air.

She placed a hand on the ancient doorhandle.

The metal was cold between her fingers.

Slowly turned it. The creak of metal was louder than she'd expected and she closed her eyes in annoyance. Waited.

Nothing.

Began to wonder if she was being too cautious. Heart thudding in her chest, the elf slowly opened the door, keeping herself hidden from outside view. She could see through a crack between the wooden planks which formed the door. But couldn't see far through the gloom.

The warlock leaned close. His voice barely a whisper, but it reached her ears. “You think it's out there?”

“Nope,” she said. “Reckon it's more of Raste's fellers. Two of them. Killed two last night. Neckless and Torak. Remember Fenis said he reckoned the Twins headed this way, too? Well, I reckon that's who's out there. Seems strange they didn't meet up with Neckless. Maybe they didn't know each other was here. Can't be sure. Either way, they're out there. I can feel it. Just ain't sure where.”
 

He shot a sharp look of surprise. “You killed two last night? When?”

“Leave it, Chukshene. We ain't got time. Reckon you can scry anything?”
 

“I'll try. It's a bit hard if there's no direct path I can see, and the door is in the way. Hold on.”
 

Closing his eyes, he held his hand out, touching the door. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead and the acrid smell of magic tickled her nostrils. She wanted to lean away from him, but kept herself rigid.

Finally, his eyes opened and he shook his head. “Can't feel shit. The door's blocking me. I'm sorry. I'm not that good at it anyway.”

“No sweat,” she said. “I'll go first. But keep close. We'll run straight across. Reckon they're in one of the huts, so we'll head between them. Fast. Eyes open, 'lock. And do everything I say. If I say stop, stop. If I say run, run. Got me?”
 

He nodded grimly. “Got you.”

“Then, on three. Ready?” She gripped the door hard. Her other hand fisted around the thin grooved handle of
Ribbed for Her Pleasure
. “One. Two. Three”
 

She exploded through the door. Felt a rush of cold air as she hit the porch. Skipped over a broken floorboard to land heavily on the ground beneath the stairs. Chukshene wasn't so lucky. His foot caught and he barrelled into her with an involuntary cry.

It was an accident which saved her life.

The arrow which slashed through the air should have buried itself in her throat. Instead, it speared into a beam directly behind as she was shoved across the ground with the warlock rolling heavily beside her.

Someone shrieked from the darkness; “Stay back! We're warning you! You take another step and we'll turn you both into fucking hedgehogs!”

“Fuck you!” She shouted back. “You're another pair of Raste's assholes? Then you're dead meat. Aim to kill you both.”
 

“That ain't a smart thing to say, raghead. Not when we got you in our sights!”
 

“Then take your shot. And best you make that shot count. Because I'm coming for you.” She took a step forward.
 

“Hey! Back the fuck off!” His voice was shrill. “We ain't fucking around. So, you use your head and maybe we can work something out. Wasn't us who did for your husband, raghead. Was Fenis. We can tell you where he is. Just let us go. We know where they're headed.”
 

“Fenis is dead, motherfucker,” she said through her teeth. “And I already know Raste's running to Grimwood Creek. Know why, too. He'll get his.”
 

“Nysta?” The warlock rubbed at his ankle. “Shouldn't we-”
 

“Move!” she spat, snatching a fistful of his robe even as another arrow tore through the air and pinged off a stone in front of her foot. Had she not moved to make a grab for the warlock, it would've gone into her chest.
 

Eager not to press her luck any further, she moved fast.

A string of curses erupted from the depths of the small hut and her mind twisted into a knot of decisions until instinct took over and she took the best course she could take in the face of the danger of more arrows spitting from the dark.

Straight at them.

Wrenching on the warlock's robe, she sent him cartwheeling to the right of the hut and out of range of the archers. Put all her bets on the Twins not being too fast with their bows and let out a roar of hate as she sprinted at the closest window, zigzagging to avoid more arrows which didn't come.

Ducked to the right of the window, shoulder slamming hard into the wall. Let out a gasp of pain. Saw a glimpse of Chukshene as he tumbled out of view down the side of the hut.

The elf sucked at air. Heart pounding in her throat and wires of white hot hate burning brightly in her veins.

Wiped her jaw with the back of her hand, wondering why the Twins weren't making a sound from inside the hut. Guessed they were frozen in place. Though surprise hadn't quite worked how they'd expected, they still had all the advantages.

She considered waiting them out.

At least get a bead on them before smashing into the hut. They knew she was there. Knew exactly where she was. They'd be waiting, crouched and ready to strike. It was two to one. It would be suicidal to attack.

The smarter thing would be to get the warlock to explode the hut, she thought. Blow the fuckers into little pieces. She could count them later.

“Ah, fuck it.”
 

And dove head first through the window.

Rolled with fluid grace that ended with her on all fours in the centre of the small room like a spider, a dagger in each fist. Eager to strike. Hungry to spill the blood of two more men who'd murdered her husband.

But the Twins were gone.

Hissing curses, she darted toward another window in the back wall and thrust her head out without thinking of the possible arrow which could have punched through her skull and into her brain. Bootprints in the sludge led quickly from the hut to angle between a small row of storehouses.

But the Twins weren't searching for a new site for ambush. They were running. Fast. She could hear them scrambling toward the back of the fortress. Knew they were out of her reach.

For now.

She spat through the window in direction of the retreating archers.

With the dome still firmly in place, they were trapped as much as she.

But they'd discovered that there was only one way they could go. Toward the cavernous maw of a roaring opening in the cliff wall at the back of the fortress. She could see it rearing over the huts like a snarling dragon's maw. And if Neckless had been right, it promised the possibility of a tunnel leading upward and out.

A tunnel which the elf reckoned was once used for defenders to reach the top where more fortifications had protected the fortress below from attacks from above. She remembered the massive stones littering the plain and guessed it was also from where catapults rained apocalyptic death on Grim's armies.  

Chukshene breathed hard as he entered through the front window. Only, his entrance was a lot less elegant. He hopped awkwardly over the sill and bounced forward to avoid falling over again. “Sorry,” he said, red-faced. “I fell. The floorboards. They were-”

“Don't sweat it, Chukshene,” she cut in easily. “Twins aimed to bring me down. Chances are they were too much for me to take at the time, so I reckon that trip of yours was just the break I needed.”
 

CHAPTER TEN

The entrance was wide enough to fit a few wagons both side by side and on top of each other. It looked to lunge from the cliff as though snapping at the light. And beyond the jagged overhanging rocks, narrowed swiftly to a single point of darkness.

At first, she thought her hunch was wrong. That it was just a cavern with no purpose. But then she saw a slender path leading into its shrouded heart and her mouth widened to a grim line. Could also see stairs carved crudely into the stone. And fresh scuff marks showed the Twins had entered the tunnel in a hurry.