Blade Of The Vampire King (Book 4) (13 page)

The elf slid her knife into its sheath and casually drew another. Lay it across her thigh and began grinding the blade with her stone. Didn't look up. “Well, I'm shocked.”

“Oh, shit.” He looked ready to throw up. “Stupid stupid stupid! It's her. Of course it is. No one else it can be, can it? We're fucked. We are definitely fucked. More fucked than that night in Dragonclaw. Nice girl. Strong legs. Did things to me you wouldn't believe. Yeah, we are so fucked.”

Hemlock raised an eyebrow at the elf, who shrugged. “Reckon the 'lock knows something we don't,” she said. “When he's finished playing with his dick about it, he'll let us know.”

Chukshene turned on them. “Don't you see? It's her!”

“You said that. Never said who
her
was.”

“His wife, of course.” The warlock was pale and obviously panicked. “Who else can it be?”

“Whose wife?”

“Urak's! The Vampire King. He had a wife. Two children. If you can call a couple of mini-monsters children. Which, technically, they all are, I guess. Neck-chewing monsters. Just the thought of them makes my ass tight.”

“You're losing it again, 'lock” Nysta observed.

“Don't any of you ever fucking read? Look. Okay, listen. There's a few stories. They're not as old as the original ballads. But in them, Grim killed Urak, and then Rule killed the Vampire King's children. They wanted to make sure, you see. That the evil never came back. But she wasn't one of them. Not really. The Vampire Lords found mortal spouses. Turned them immortal through their evil magic, or something. No one really knows how. But whatever. It's not important. What's important is those stories say she was here. And Rule cursed her to spend eternity haunting the halls of Urak's Keep. I thought it was just a poet's addition. You know. After the fact. To make Rule out to be even worse than the usual motherfucker he is.” He tugged on his bottom lip and his eyes flicked this way and that. “It's said she cursed them all. That she'd get revenge one day. She must have been so pissed. And that voice? It sounded pissed. Mad, too. Crazy mad. Not just angry mad. All fucked up, she sounded.”

“It could've been a woman's voice,” Hemlock allowed.

“Could be? It fucking well was!”

“Rule wouldn't kill children,” Melganaderna said doubtfully.

“Oh, yes he would,” Chukshene was shaking. His body trembled as fresh tremors of paranoia drummed through his veins. He looked around as though expecting the Vampire Queen to leap from the shadows. “He did, even. Still does. Many times. Ask
her
. Nysta's people have been persecuted by him for centuries. Go on, ask her. She knows. And let's not even talk about what he does to orks. Why do you think the Wall was built in the first place? It wasn't built by Rule to keep us in. It was built by Grim to keep
him
out! To protect the Fnordic Lands from Rule's insanity. He doesn't kill just soldiers, you know. You can't wipe out a people by killing their soldiers. You have to go for the fucking throat or don't bother. Kill them all. Because, if you don't, their children will come after you one day. He knows that. He's an asshole, but he's not stupid.”

She still didn't look convinced. “But, children...?”

“Ain't ever met him,” Nysta said. Her tone was heavy, and drew their eyes. “But I've seen what his soldiers do. Grey Jackets don't just kill us. They torture us. As long as they can. They believe the screams of a dying elf please Rule. They call us Tainted. Our souls ain't pure enough for their god. Only way to purify us is through pain. In their fucked up heads, they think they're doing us a favour. I've seen them keep a man alive for three days. Seen them keep a kid for five.”

“Grey Jackets? You mean the Accepted? Lieberslanders?”

“That's where they come from. We call them Grey Jackets on account of all the grey they wear.”

“But that doesn't sound right. I mean, they're-”

“Bastards,” Nysta finished for her, voice growing colder with each word. “Ain't no other word for them. And I'm trying to forget where you come from, kid. Trying real hard to keep things polite. Ain't sure why, really. But something tells me you're looking for a chance to get free. Well, maybe you'll get your chance. If you do, you'll see for yourself what they can do to a town. Reckon after that, if you still want to tell me how nice these fellers are, or how forgiving their god is, you can look me up. Then we'll see if you can beat me in a fight without jumping out of nowhere like you did last time.”

Melganaderna's fist tightened around
Torment
's haft. But she nodded. “Maybe things are different out here,” she said slowly. “We've already seen a few things we didn't understand. Maybe you're right, Nysta. I hope you're not, though.”

“You know I am,” the elf said. “Or you wouldn't be running away.”

The axewoman frowned at that, and again had nothing to say.

Hemlock, though, was looking at the warlock. “I've never read that Urak had a wife. Maybe you got it wrong? Maybe it's just a tavern legend? Something to make it sound better, like you said.”

“I'm not wrong,” he said firmly. “It's her. Sure, mostly it's tavern legends like you say. But even in a bard's mouth you can sometimes find some truth. They don't all work as tools for the Emperor's propaganda. She was a fiend, by all accounts. It took rivers of blood to please her. She preferred virgins. Which I understand, of course. You know, being the kind of man I am. But she wanted them for their blood. She bathed in it. The younger the better. Her crimes were so great, they're why Rule cursed her with endless life. Doomed to spend eternity looking at the body of her dead husband.”

The elf's eye twitched at the warlock's words.

A brief image of Talek, his frozen body.

Blood.

Knife buried in his chest.

“What's her name?” The elf's voice was a dry rasp.

“Don't make me say it,” he whined.

“Her name, Chukshene.”

Chukshene's eyes bored into her. His face lost its fear and he sighed, resigned to answering. “She was called the Black Sorceress. Scourge of the Bloods. Vampire Queen, and the Damned Bride. Her name? Gul'Se.”

“
You know my name, mortal man. How clever of you
,” the voice purred through the room. Nysta couldn't place its source. It seemed to breathe into life from the very air around them. Humming along the walls.

Chukshene rolled his eyes. “I told you,” he muttered. “Didn't I tell you? Don't ask questions. Doesn't anyone fucking listen to me?”

“
So now you know your crime, and you will pay for it. How you will pay
.”

“We weren't there,” Hemlock barked, looking upward. Trying to locate where it was coming from. “It was centuries ago!”

“
You
were
here!
” The voice lashed at them. Sharp as a whip. “
And it was only yesterday
.
The blood is still wet.
”

He tried again, voice urgent to communicate his sincerity. “You have to believe us, Dread Queen. We had nothing to do with your pain. We're not your enemies. We came only to speak with you.”

“
I know your words for lies. You seek to confuse me. But my mind is clear. I remember when you came here with your cowardly gods and you slew and slew so you could take what wasn't yours! My vengeance is everlasting. Come to me. Come and die, mortals. You will die in such agony
.
Urak! Urak, my love. Where are you? Come feed with me!
”

A slither of air took the voice away again, and Chukshene let out a heavy whine.

“Why did I come in here again? I should have stayed outside. Nysta? Why did you let me do this?” He looked up at her, lank hair glistening with sweat and grime. Then frowned. Rubbed his jaw as he remembered something else. “You hit me.”

“You touched me.”

“Is that why you hit me? All I did was-”

“Don't touch me.”

“Okay, okay,” he grunted. “We're fucked now, you know. She might not be a full-fledged Vampire Lord, but if what little I know of her is right, then she's still stronger than us. It took gods to fight the Vampire Lords. Two of them. Gods. We're not gods.”

“No,” she spat a wet stream out into the dark. “We ain't.”

“All I wanted was
Sharras Exilium
.”

“You might still get it back, 'lock.”

“It's too late,” he said. “She'll kill us now. Even if I do, there's nothing in it which can help us. Grim's mouldy cock, I've been so stupid. I should have stayed in Godsfall. That's what I should have done. Kept my nose in their books. Become some kind of fucking clerk. Or a cook. I can cook. I mean, I could if I wanted to. I could have done anything. Cleaned their fucking chamber pots. I don't know. Anything's got to be better than dying in a fucking cave.”

Opposite the ranting warlock, echoes of fear spilled across Melganaderna's face making her look even younger. And if it wasn't for the blood soaking through the rings of her mail, the elf would've figured her for a complete innocent.

The elf's hooded gaze moved away from the young axewoman. She couldn't help thinking about another young girl whose name she'd already forgotten.

A girl who'd battled the Grey Jackets along the wall of Tannen's Run. Who'd found the guts to fight when others had run away.

And she saw in this one, the same spirit.

The same steel.

“It breathes,” the elf said. “Whatever it is. Remember that. It breathes.”

“So?”

“So, you can kill it,” the warlock finished. “That's Nysta's motto, sort of. I'm sure it's stamped on the inside of her skull so she can't forget it.”

Melganaderna nodded. It took conscious effort, but the woman pushed her fear away. Clung instead to something stronger than her fear.

Trust.

Not in herself, but in the elf's words.

“You're like him, you know,” she said,. “I was trained by one of the best soldiers my father had. His name was Gormen. He'd fought in countless battles. Killed more than he could remember. And though he tried to hide it, when you looked into his eyes you could see Death staring right back at you. He'd seen that much of it, it had to affect his soul, right? But he spoke like you. The same kinds of words. Maybe all warriors speak like that regardless of where we come from? I'd like to believe that. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I think if he were here now, he'd have said just that.”

“Gormen?” And when Melganaderna nodded, the elf drawled; “He sounds ghastly.”

CHAPTER TEN

In the aftermath of Gul'Se's words, the warlock wanted to keep moving. But not further into the heart of the Vampire Queen's madness. He wanted to search for the elusive promise of side tunnels. Find a way out of the mountain's haunted guts.

Hemlock argued against it.

Between coughing fits, he maintained the best course of action was to prevent the Grey Jackets from disturbing Gul'Se any further. “It would be disastrous if she's let loose on the world,” he said. “We have to risk it, Chukshene. Have to. There's no one else.”

Melganaderna crossed her arms and glared at the warlock, defiantly siding with Hemlock.

Looking to the elf for a firm decision, Chukshene was doomed to be disappointed when she offered little comment. Instead, she moved further apart and settled herself against a wall to peer down the dark tunnel and wrapped herself in her own thoughts.

Her attitude showed she was clearly not ready to move anywhere.

Responding to the warlock's subsequent frustrated groan, Melganaderna grinned impishly and cleared a space large enough beside the necromancer's fire. Spread her bedroll and motioned for the wheezing necromancer to lay beside her.

Chukshene resigned himself to a long wait and sprawled on his back, hands folded under his head. Mouthed his thoughts, but kept his eyes closed and no sound emerged from his lips.

Hemlock and the young axewoman whispered softly to each other. Her hearing picked up snatches of what they said, but the elf tried to block their conversation from her mind. Not wanting to listen to their more intimate expressions.

Just the thought of those kinds of words made her want to shriek in jealous rage.

Which unsettled her. When Talek had been alive, he'd never hidden his feelings. Had always told her how much he loved her. Often surprising her with a tender phrase.

When she returned after being away, sometimes for weeks at a time, he'd hold her for a long time. The scent of him like a familiar blanket as his warmth eased her steely soul. He'd tell her he missed her. Always in words which fanned the embers of a heart she thought had grown too cold.

His strong arms made soft in those moments.

She'd never been able to open up to him like he had to her. Could never speak the words she suspected he'd always dreamt of hearing spill from her mouth. When his arms were around her, she'd found it difficult to return his affection. Hard to bend into his embrace.

She'd felt awkward. A little frustrated by her inability to express. Sure, the love was there. Buried deep within. But it had crystallised. Hardened into something which couldn't bend. Couldn't even bear to move in case it shattered like glass.

No matter how hard he tried to open her, she'd never felt she could unlock the final door to her soul. And the worst part of it all was that she'd wanted to.

Wanted to pull the hinges free and throw them at his feet.

Even more painful, was the fact it took his death to spill her tears.

His death to drive home just how deeply she'd loved him.

Finding it hard to swallow, Nysta forced her face to remain impassive. Tried to focus on the subtle changes in the air drifting up from the corridor.

Tried to push her memories aside. Memories whose scabs had been picked open by the wounded tone of Gul'Se's disembodied voice.

Her shoulders felt like steel. Spine made of brittle shards of ice.

She wanted to scream. Send her voice raging through the mountain. Bring it all down. Tear the rocky bones free and bury herself under their weight. Somehow, in the silence, she thought she might find a measure of peace from her thoughts.

Her skeleton, protected by flesh, trembled inside her body as though trying to free itself.