The barking howls of undead Draug combined hideously into an orchestra of bloodlust. She could see their twisted shadows as they skittered from the trees to dance among the massive boulders. Their excitement chilled her to the bone as fear clutched an icy hand around her spine.
The warlock bounced off a boulder, stumbling almost drunkenly behind her.
"Fuck," he swore, rubbing his shoulder as he tried to keep upright. "Nysta. They're gaining. I thought you said they were slow!"
They are, Chukshene," she said, gliding over the terrain in a way that made the warlock think of running water. He turned his lip jealously as she glanced at him. Grinning, the elf finished mildly; "But so are you."
"Slow? Me?" His voice rose sharply as terror and outrage competed for equal footing. Outrage won, for now. "Bullshit, slow! I'll tell you, Long-ear, when I was an apprentice, I out-fucking-ran orks! I'd race those greenskinned fuckers all over Doom's Reach. Any time! And I never fucking lost. So, you can stick your slow up your skinny fucking ass! Fuck you. I'm slow? I'm faster than fuck."
"What happened since then, Chukshene?" The elf leapt nimbly onto a large chunk of stone almost as tall as she was. Pulling herself up, she shot the panting warlock an amused look. "Let me guess. You took an arrow to the knee?"
"What?" He reeled unsteadily. Winced and leaned hard against the stone, sweat dripping down his face. His tone was miserable. "What the fuck are you talking about? I'm fit. Fast. I can fucking outrun anything. Anything, I tell you. Just give me a minute. Catch my breath. Just one fucking minute. Shit, I've been running for weeks. Months, maybe."
She felt her heart race as more shadows flickered in the distance.
Ten. Twenty? Thirty?
Fucking fifty, for all she knew. Too many to count.
Too many to kill?
The sharp tip of her tongue dragged over the top of her lip as she dropped her hand to A Flaw in the Glass. Was there such a thing as too many to kill?
But these were Draug, she reminded herself. It was impossible to kill undead with normal blades.
Well. Almost impossible.
Something deep inside her considered the challenge.
Grinning at the madness of the thought, the elf dropped next to the warlock and slapped a hand on his shoulder. "We've got to go, Chukshene. Now. Run, or be killed. Your choice."
His face was haggard and his expression haunted as he looked up. His eyes watered, unable to focus properly. "I can't. Nysta, I'm fucked."
Her fist took him clean on the cheek and he was thrown back, sprawling over the hard stone ground. It wasn't a heavy punch. Just enough to get his attention.
It worked.
Clutching his cheek, the warlock shot her a surprised look. "What the fuck did you do that for?"
"Wake you up." She bared her teeth and ran her fingers through her hair, feeling the pressure of time squeezing in on her. "Look, Chukshene, I know you're tired. I know you reckon you can't go on. You want to just sit here. Want to make a stand right here. But I'm telling you, we can't. This ain't the place. And if you think I'll stay out here and die for you, you're wrong. So, you get the fuck up right now, and you run. You run until your fucking heart explodes in your chest. And then you get up and you fucking run some more. Because if you don't, you're a dead fuck. And there ain't nothing I can do to save you. You listening, Chukshene? You get the fuck up right now. You hear me? Right fucking now. Quit pissing about."
He massaged his cheek, fresh blood moist between his fingers. His expression was hurt, but slowly he nodded as reality swamped hysteria.
Pulling himself to his feet, his shoulders slumped. "I hear. And I'm sorry. I must look like a weak shit to you."
The elf felt a brief stab of guilt as she remembered his reason for not sleeping was to watch over her. But she had no choice but to urge him on. "Tell you what's worse."
"What?"
"Those fellers right there." She pointed a finger to where a figure lurched into view. Too far to be an immediate threat, it was nonetheless more solid than the spidery shadows still darting between the rocks further away. It wore rags for clothes. And its flesh, even from this distance, looked rancid and peeling.
It howled as it caught sight of them. Slapped its stomach and headed toward them. A few more rolled out of the shadows on gnarled legs and followed with the same crooked gait.
"Grim's moldy fucking blistered cock! Move! Move! Come on, Long-ear!" He pushed past her, suddenly filled with the kind of energy that only comes when a heart is filled with horror. His robe flapped wildly. He looked, she thought, like a bat leaving the Shadowed Halls.
"Took the words right out of my mouth," she murmured, skirting a large boulder and sprinting ahead.
More hoots erupted from their right, and the elf caught sight of more Draug spilling onto the plain. An army of them. They moved with the morbid gracelessness of the undead. Their bodies twisted like puppets on twisted wires. But puppets with sharp claws and savage teeth.
Scrambling faster as they caught sight of the desperate pair, the Draug possessed no plan short of using the overwhelming numbers of their rabid mouths. A simple tactic, but brutally effective.
A Flaw in the Glass hummed as she spun it in her fingers. Sprinting ahead, she ignored the warlock's cry for her stay close. Instead, sped forward, scouting the dark places between several massive boulders crumbling against each other.
Slowing only when she was certain there was nothing haunting the immediate area, she tried to push her fear of the approaching Draug aside and keep herself focused on reaching the ruined fortress in the distance.
Hoped that it was more or less intact and that somewhere inside the buckled walls was a building they could barricade themselves in.
But the adrenaline pumping through her veins wasn't working in anticipation of a happy ending to the night, so she felt the thrill of danger take her to within a splinter of going berserk. She wiped sweat from her face and worked spit into her dry mouth.
Spat at her feet as the warlock nearly barreled into her.
"Can we kill them?" He grabbed her shoulder to hold himself up. Grabbed loud mouthfuls of air.
She wanted to shrug his hand off. Maybe even cut it off. But, given the sacrifices he'd made for her, she allowed him the chance to catch his breath. Shaking her head, she grunted. "Can't kill Draug."
"What?"
"They're already dead. Reckoned you would've known that, 'lock. Ain't undead your specialty?"
"Demons," he whined. "I know about demons. I'm a warlock, not a necromancer. There's a difference. Fucking undead? Simple. Just burn them. Got to burn them."
"Fine. Spin us up some fireballs. You'll only need a few dozen, I figure. Couple hundred at most."
"You know I can't."
"Then best we get to the fortress. Hope we can hole up somewhere. It's all we've got. Stop them from swamping us, and we'll be fine. They give up quick if we ain't taunting them."
"Taunting them? What the fuck? How the fuck am I taunting them? I didn't say anything about their mothers! Not a fucking thing." He screwed his face up. Looked far beyond exhaustion. "Do they even have mothers?"
"You're taunting them by being alive, Chukshene. And not being in their stomachs." Then, allowing she wasn't one for stirring motivational speeches, she aimed a kick at his ass and shoved him in the back. "So, lift that fucking skirt and keep running!"
The warlock's face twisted in frustration. "It's not a fucking skirt!"
"We're surrounded by an army of braindead assholes, Chukshene," she called over her shoulder. "Might be best if you calmed down about it. They hate cross dressers out here."
***
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