She tapped the blade gently against his chest. "Now, if he ain't staying in Grimwood Creek, where's he headed?"
"South!" The word pulsed from his mouth like a rupture. A splash of blood hit her arm holding him down. "Headed south. Meeting our escort at the town. Then south. South. That was the plan. But I ain't making it, am I? Too late."
The elf frowned. "South? There ain't nothing south for him. They'd kill him on sight. He can't hide there forever."
"Told you. Lord of Light forgives. Just got to ask," Fenis closed his eyes. "Raste's crossing over. Shit. We all were."
An icy stillness bloomed inside her at the words. She looked up at the warlock, who caught her eyes with a firm gaze.
With his words, the Bloody Nine had proven to be not just mercenaries, but traitors of the worst kind. Traitors willing to run into the arms of the Caspiellan god. Her mouth formed a hard line as she returned her gaze to the dying elf. "Crossing over? That sounds lie bullshit. Caspiellans will kill you all the second you cross the border. Maybe before."
"We got the word. Rule wants us back. All of us. There's more of us than you know, raghead. And he wants us in Leibersland. Important. Time to leave north."
Chukshene pushed forward, almost shoving her aside. "Why? What does he want you to do?"
Fenis gave a weak shake of his head. "Won't tell. No, hurt all you want. But won't tell. Tell you where he is, though. Raste. Do what you want to that bastard. And Tubal. Fuck them. They left me behind. Could've saved me, but I saw his eyes. He saw my horse get ripped apart. Chose to leave me, right? It's why I headed after the twins. But I won't tell you nothin' else. Lord of Light protects me now. He cleanses my Tainted Blood."
The warlock glared at Fenis with almost as much hate as she herself was bottling. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she shrugged in response to the unspoken question.
"Don't reckon he'll talk," she said. "Not that he's that tough. But he ain't got much left. He knows it. He'll finish bleeding out before he speaks."
"That's right," Fenis said between gulps for air. "Tell you something else, too."
"What's that?"
"Your man. I killed him. My knife. That's why Raste didn't give a shit what happened to me. He wanted something from him. Wanted Talek alive. I fucked it up. So, I'm the one you want, raghead. Maybe he figured if you got me, you'd leave them alone?"
"Already figured it was you," she said coldly. Bared her teeth, the hunger to kill almost too much to bear. But she held it back. "What did Raste want?"
"Stupid thing."
"What?"
"A box. Said it was small. Had black runes on it. Important. Said Rule would give us a big reward for it. Maybe our own kingdoms. Didn't believe him. Just a box. Can't be worth shit. Not to the Lord of Light. The sun is his to command. What's a box to that kind of power?"
A sudden flush of blood rushed through her as her world reeled. So, Talek died for his precious box. She suppressed the urge to snatch it from her jacket and feed it to Fenis through his teeth.
The warlock's stare drilled into her, but she ignored him. Instead, she took a tight fistful of the dying elf's shirt.
Fenis didn't notice. "You gotta know," he murmured. "Did this for us. For our kind. We're losing, raghead. Lostlight doesn't have long. Food is short. We're almost cut off from the Great Wall. And Rule is coming. Here. To the Deadlands. Then he'll take the wall. Take back Fnordic Lands once and for all. Who's gonna stop him? Grim's dead. And even if he leaves Lostlight alone, it's ready to explode. Clans fight each other. It's falling apart. King ain't strong enough to pull them together. Not anymore. He's old. And Lostlight is diseased with corruption. And what do the Fnords care what happens to us? Their Emperor hides like a coward in Doom's Reach. Face it. We're alone. Lost. But some of us can be saved, raghead. Our race can continue."
"As Rule's slaves," the warlock spat. "Are you that fucking stupid?"
"Not slaves," Fenis wheezed. Sounded almost urgent to convince her. A fanatic to the end. "Forgiven. He forgives. Make the sacrifice, raghead. Before too late. Don't need to be Tainted. Can be cleansed. All forgiven!"
The elf called Nysta leaned over him like a vampire over its prey. Pressed her nose against his.
She tasted his breath. Stared deep into his fluttering eyes. She could smell the Shadowed Halls pulling at his soul. A soul which clung to its host on a fragile thread.
A thread she was ready to cut.
A Flaw in the Glass drifted venomously.
"It'll come too late for you, Fenis," she said. Her voice was cold. Like the slow approach of a glacier. Chukshene caught his breath as she bared her teeth at the dying elf and hissed; "Your god ain't here. And I sure as fuck ain't the forgiving kind."
The enchanted blade ignored the thin chain of Fenis' armor to sink gleefully between his ribs. A cruel slow sinking of the blade meant to draw as much pain from the dying elf as she could.
Fenis screamed.
She felt it cut through his flesh like a wyrm's fang before parting the ribs and sliding up against his thudding heart. She could feel it pulsing against the enchanted steel.
In the wake of his shrill scream, Fenis' breath came in static gasps like a beached fish. He sobbed incoherently as she held the blade perfectly still. His hand flopped over hers and their gazes met.
Hers, more bleak than her surroundings.
And his, wide in fear and agony.
Then, with a savage twist, she shoved the blade into his heart, ended his life in a torrid explosion of blood and pain.
Rising to her feet without looking at the body, she pulled the blade free with a horrid sucking sound that made the warlock retch.
"Was that necessary?" He looked away from the corpse. "He was dying anyway. You could've just let him die. That was fucking awful."
"Wanted him to die by my hand, 'lock," she said, numb to the pain she'd just inflicted. "My way. Don't believe in letting nature take its course."
"Grim's withered cock," he shook his head. "It's still fucking brutal. Never seen anything so cold. You didn't have many friends growing up, did you?"
"Not really," she shrugged. Wiped the glowing blade on the dead elf's cloak. Absently, she cut a strip of the cloak free and toyed with it in her hand. "But friends always betray you in the end."
His eyes were caught, fascinated by the way she twirled the ragged strip of cloth between her fingers. Then widened as he suddenly realised the full meaning of why Fenis had called her raghead.
"They're trophies," he breathed, voice a mix of horror and disgust. "You collect fucking trophies! Off everyone you kill?"
The elf began twisting the cloth into a ragged lock of hair. As calmly as if she were buttoning her shirt.
"No," she nudged the dead elf's foot with a cold humorless grin. "Only the ones I like. That way I never say goodbye. Speaking of goodbye, it's time to go. Could make another hour or so before we bed down for the night."
His tired expression was overwhelmed by pity. "How does someone get to be as cold as you?"
"I ain't so cold now," she climbed to her feet, rubbed at her legs, and began walking away. "Snow stopped last night. I'm much warmer."
"You know what I mean!"
The elf didn't answer.
He watched her strut away as the echoes of her brutality still trembled in the air.
Then frowned suddenly as another thought occurred to him. He rushed over to Fenis' dead body and shuffled through his pockets. Tried to keep his gaze from the ugly wounds.
Quickly found a scrap of paper in one of the pouches and lifted it out. Unfolded it with care, though his expression was grim.
He read the words carefully, translating from Caspiellan.
"Motherfucker," he mouthed.
Looked up to see the elf standing some distance away, her hands on her hips, her mouth twitched upward into a crooked smile. "You call me cold, 'lock. Yet, look at you. Going through a dead man's pockets. Takes some frigid little stones of your own to do that."
He held up the paper. "I was looking for this."
"What is it?"
"A letter. From Rule's favourite general, Storr."
"Shopping list?"
"No," frowned the warlock. "A letter of safe passage. And it looks like Storr himself is meeting your friends. This is important. More important than your simple plan of revenge. This is big. We've got to stop them, Nysta."
"Aim to. And if you'll shut your mouth and get moving, we might even catch them before they get to Grimwood Creek."
The warlock hurried, his exhaustion almost forgotten as he caught up to her. His eyes flicked this way and that as his brain tumbled a thousand thoughts around inside his skull. "Grim's balls. What are they up to?"
"Nothing more in that letter of yours?"
He examined the torn page. "No. Looks like there might've been something else at the bottom. But whatever it was, he tore it away. Got rid of it. Ate it, maybe. Fuck, I wish I knew what it said. What are those southern bastards up to now?"
"Figures," she ran her fingers through her hair, feeling the freshly knotted cloth. Drawled; "From a feller like Fenis, you were bound to get the one letter short of a dick."
***
Bleeding edge chapters.Secret lore.Mad rambles from a grimdark author in too deep.
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