Nysta stepped into the courtyard, wincing as she rubbed her upper arm. Was satisfied to feel the numbness fading quickly as she led him out into the murky light.
Although she kept her movements casual, almost laconic, she was inwardly tense. Expecting violence to explode out of the deceptive peace like a swarm of bats.
Her violet eyes thinned to slits as she looked around. Carefully scanning every shadow.
Searching for movement.
But nothing moved.
And the eerie silence was broken only by the warlock's nails cracking between his teeth as he chewed them noisily.
"Now what?" he asked as her head snapped round so she could glare at him.
"Keep your eyes and ears open. And be fucking quiet."
"But-"
"Shh! Listen. Look. Nothing else."
Picking their way around the tower to avoid smoking cracks in the ground and strewn rubble, they were faced with rows of small buildings.
The hooded windows seemed to watch with unearthly menace, and the elf felt a faint itch in her palm.
At a glance, she guessed the closest was a storehouse. A few smaller huts which were probably officers' quarters. They were badly damaged by time, with most of their walls missing stone and overgrown with thick black moss.
The ground, too, was covered in patches of black sludge and moss. A few puddles of melted snow and mud. Fingers of dripping ice hanging from the corners of some of the buildings.
It was cold, she thought. But the thick walls forming the dome above had worked to give the air a musty humidity that echoed the fog encircling the cursed fortress.
Ignoring the small huts, she was drawn by instinct to a longer building at 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'd 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 finds 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.
Ignoring the warlock poking his head curiously over her shoulder, she gently used her foot to disturb a small mound of black huddled against the wall.
It crumbled away to reveal the gleaming white bone 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 his gagging by slapping his 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.
She tried to penetrate the shadows, but as far as she could see, the interior was a depthless void. The elf crouched low, ears straining for even the slightest sound.
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, grimacing 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 now lay sprawled across the threshold.
Stooping under cobwebs draped across the two bunks guarding the doorway, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.
Was quickly able to make out the lines of bunks. The 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 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. Do you think they're part of the wall?"
"Fucked if I know. But I figure there'd be more bloodstains if something had killed them here. Maybe a few more bodies. Just looks like they left in a hurry. Could be that wall was built after 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.
Nudged 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 to her lips.
He nodded and lowered himself slowly into a crouch. Gently eased the grimoire open and licked his lips nervously.
Keeping 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 cabin she'd built with her own hands. The cabin 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 there was no blood. Torak had been bleeding. By the look of the wound he'd had, there should be at least a few spots around.
She also figured he'd have been leaning on Neckless when they'd arrived. These prints were made by at least 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 door handle.
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 deep into the gloom.
The warlock leaned close. His voice barely a whisper, but it reached her ears. "You think that thing with the chains is out there?"
"Nope," she whispered back. "Reckon it's more of Raste's fellers. Two of them, I think. Could be three, but more likely two. Killed another two last night. Neckless and Torak. Remember Fenis said he reckoned the Twins were also headed this way. 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 her a sharp look of surprise. "You killed two last night? When?"
"While you were asleep."
"You ever stop looking for trouble?"
"Ain't my fault," she said, rubbing at her shoulder. "Guess I got hooked on it."