He stayed by the window for a long time, studying the shimmering wall. Rubbing his chin as his mind turned over and over.
The elf thought he looked like one of the old men who haunted the markets. The ones who stood in the shadows and looked with vacant expressions at young girls. As though trying to remember something they'd forgotten.
For her part, Nysta found she didn't really care too much about the wall. That it was made of dead bodies didn't bother her.
Instead, she worried about what lay within the cliffs. What could make the very ground shake so violently?
Because something was happening. Something she couldn't see.
Soon, she felt, something would come for them. And when it did, she wasn't sure they'd survive.
But it wasn't here, yet. Like a spider with too many flies in its web, it would come for the smallest last. The undeniable horror of an insignificant death dug through the elf's thoughts and she tried to imagine what evil was picking at the threads of this particular web.
Tried to summon a picture in her mind.
And drew a blank.
The elf probed the scar on her cheek. Remembered the taste of the sword which had punched through the flesh and come so close to blinding her.
Remembered killing the swordsman. But his mark had stayed with her, always itching.
Scowling, she snatched her fingers from her face and sought distraction within the depths of her jacket pocket.
Dug out the small box she'd carried these past few days. The box her husband's family had protected since the Godwars.
Gone was the feeling of being hot or cold. It now felt like an ordinary wooden box. Any hint of a mysterious aura looked to have fled when it opened.
And the alien runes, still etched across its belly and around the cold metal ribs, appeared less intense.
Like they were fading.
It looked so ordinary. Uninteresting. And she wondered why she still carried it now its secret contents had escaped into her flesh.
Quickly arrived at a simple conclusion.
It was Talek's.
Talek's box.
In a moment of fear, Chukshene had called it a cage. Hadn't meant to, she figured. But his brain had been more focused on being afraid than being careful with his tongue.
And the way he said it sounded like he knew more than he was trying to let on.
She wondered what other secrets curled inside the warlock's brain like a knot of weasels. And what it would take to dig them out.
Grunted.
Probably a pickaxe through his forehead.
But even then she wouldn't trust his answers.
Gripping the box tight in her fist, she couldn't shake the feeling the warlock was playing a game. A game in which the stakes were high and her life was just a piece on the board. She wondered if it were she or the box which was more important to the warlock.
No. Not a box, she told herself. A cage.
An empty cage.
She tossed it high. Watched it spin end over end.
Caught it.
Juggled it.
Yawned, and stuffed it back into her pocket.
Looked over to the warlock, who remained fixed in place like a statue.
"You ain't solving anything standing there like an idiot," she told him.
"I'm thinking," he said, sounding more irritated with himself than with her. Though, it didn't stop him from adding with a churlish sneer; "Which is more than you're fucking doing."
For a moment, she considered looking for a pickaxe. Then clicked her tongue. Dragged her feet from the table and shuffled toward the doorway. "Fuck this."
"Where are you going?"
"Hunting."
"What for?"
"For whatever the fuck is out there. Sooner or later, it'll come for us. And I ain't sitting here on my ass waiting to die. I'll find it first. And then stab it in the face. Twice. Three times if it pisses me off."
"That's your answer to everything, isn't it? Thuggery. Even out here in a place all the gods have forsaken, you act like you're still in an alley of cutpurses and street urchins."
"Don't knock it," the elf countered. "It works."
He worked his jaw, trying to figure out how to react. Which was, she thought with a curl of her lip as she nudged the door open with the toe of her boot, the first time since they'd met that he'd been lost for words.
Pausing outside the doorway, the elf glanced upward.
Could imagine the smell of death on a slight shift of air fluttering down the stairs. But quickly submerged such thoughts.
She'd learned a long time ago they were the seeds of nightmares. And she didn't need any more of those.
Chukshene struggled with his pack. Nearly dropped his grimoire, but managed to wrestle it deftly in his hands. He sprinkled a few curses as he rolled the long sleeves of his robe up his arm. Scuttling after her, the vivid purple runes glittered sharply and the robe kicked up dust in his wake.
"Wait for me, then," he called.
"Told you before, 'lock. Ain't my job to wait. Your job to keep up."
The bolts on the door were still in place.
Neckless had told the truth about arriving first. Then it'd simply been luck that the elf had chosen the tower in which the two dead mercenaries had been holing up. Which wasn't much of a surprise.
As Musa'Jadean, they'd been trained to command the best defensive position when in hostile territory. And, given the military design, the relatively sturdy tower had seemed the obvious choice.
She grunted with effort as she wrestled with the last bolt. It felt wedged in and she figured the iron had twisted over the years. Maybe the shifting ground had caused it to warp even further, but in any case it refused to budge.
The elf glared at it.
Then pushed her boot against the wall for more leverage and set her jaw.
"Need some help?" Chukshene asked, stepping up quickly.
"I ask for any?" She didn't glance at him. Took a tight grip on the bolt and gave a savage jerk that made her arm spasm. With a gasp, she let go and clutched at her shoulder.
"Leave it alone," the warlock said, rolling his eyes at her. "You're obviously still in pain. I'll get it."
She shoved him aside, her eyes sparkling venomously. "I told you. I'm fucking fine."
The elf took a firm grip on the bolt.
This time, as she wrenched it back, the iron gave a sharp twang and broke in half as easily as a brittle twig. For a moment, it had felt like something had crawled across her shoulder.
Or under it.
Looking down in surprise at the shattered metal in her hand, she slowly opened her fingers and let it drop to the stone floor with a clatter.
Not wanting to think about what had happened, she pushed the door open as she rubbed at her numb arm from elbow to shoulder.
Feeling nothing unusual.
Chukshene nudged the broken bolt with his toe as he stepped past her. "Guess you didn't need help after all."
"It was old," she said, more to herself than to him. "Probably rusted away years ago."
"Right," the warlock nodded. Paused on the threshold. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine. But you're getting on my nerves, 'lock. If you ask me again, I'll put my fist through your teeth."
"You really didn't have any friends when you were a kid, did you? I was asking because you can't even lift your arm. Right now it's all fucked up and you're frightened. Sure, you're doing your best to hide it behind that stinky black armour and stupid number of knives. But you don't have to be afraid. Don't have to live with pain all the time. I'm no healer, but I might be able to help, you know. If you'd let me."
The muscles and nerves in her arm shared static notes of pain as she lifted it to squeeze a fist in front of his nose.
"It's fine." Her expression revealed nothing of the pain she was feeling. "It's just a scratch."
"What if it isn't?"
"Told you. I've had worse."
"Have it your way. Choke on your wounds for all I care. But it's not just for you I'm offering to help. When we find what's keeping us here, we'll probably need to fight. I need to know I can count on you as much as you can count on me. Need you to be able to use that arm of yours, Long-ear. Because we're not getting out of this unless we're together."
"I hear you, 'lock. But you don't know me well if you reckon all I'm gonna do is bleed on this fucker. I told you. I'll kill it. Even if I have to use my teeth." She showed a crooked grin. "Besides. It's just a flesh wound."
"And what if it's not? What if you can't move?"
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
"Now, that's different," he said, frowning up at her.
Impatience curdled in her guts as she frowned back at him. "What is?"
"You," he tapped the grimoire in his hands thoughtfully. "This is the first time since I met you that you're showing a positive attitude. I mean, face it, Nysta. You're not very good at looking on the bright side."
"Forget it, 'lock," she sighed, pushing past him and out into the light. "Weren't no call to go the full monty."
***
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