Blade Of The Vampire King (Book 4) (21 page)

After a while, she frowned. They really did look like the runes on Talek's Cage.

Drawing the small box from her pocket, she compared the spidery writing. So similar. But still so meaningless.

She opened it again, peering into the dark recess.

Again wondered what had been released. Remembered clearly the moment it had opened. The click of it. Gacket's dark tendrils of spearing into her flesh, then the wave of frozen darkness which followed.

She could remember the war being raged inside her as Veil's Gift struggled to dominate the contents of Talek's Cage.

Remembered Chukshene's face when she woke.

He'd said there was nothing he could do.

The bubbling rage which surged suddenly within her heart nearly crippled her. How could he have just stood by and watched? He should have done something.

Spellslingers were beings of awesome power. She'd seen Chukshene raise a demon. Seen him pull gremlins from the sky. Fireballs which melted his foes. Yet, he'd sat and watched as two breeds of darkness fought for control of her body.

Did nothing.

Just watched.

Her knuckles cracked as her fists tightened so hard it felt for a moment that her fingers would burst through her palms and out the back of her hands.

“Fucking bastard,” she growled.

And then, like the stories of old, her salvation came to her.

Just like that. As though dropped into her head from a dead god.

Could almost hear its laughter as she climbed to her feet. Eyes burning in her sockets, the elf stepped toward the rubble. Picked among the dust-bound debris until she found the metal grating she'd kicked off the pipe. It wasn't very large, but it was still heavy.

Returned to her position by the wall.

Looked up.

The pipe grinned down at her, daring her to try reaching for it.

Her violet eyes narrowed to thin slits. Pupils glistening. Jaw clenched.

She eyed the mould which spread across the wall.

Spat out through the corner of her mouth.

“Fuck you,” she said through her teeth.

Lifted the grate, holding it against her shoulder.

And charged forward with a roar.

A few steps. Hard slap of her boots on the loose tiles.

Then the bone-crunching impact as her shoulder, pressed against the metal grating, smashed into the mould-draped wall. The force spread outward and in that shuddering moment, the wall gave a resounding shout of surprise as its face cracked. Split. Then belched outward as the stone, weakened by moisture flowing within, crumbled beneath the elf brutal determination to run right through it.

Heavy slabs of rock tumbled down onto her as she burst through. Sparks scattered like incandescent diamonds which fizzled and died as quickly as they were born. Her knee hit something hard, but she kept moving. Kept driving forward, mouth screaming curses.

Two more steps beyond the shattered wall and she tripped to a sudden stop among chunks of stone and a powdery cloud of plaster.

She pulled her leg free with a snarl. Blood slithered down her face and from her leg where her pants had been torn open. Her shoulder and head were throbbing, but numb. The pain would come soon.

But, as she reared up from the shattered rubble, Nysta's expression was one of profound satisfaction.

“Well,” a familiar voice said softly. “That's not what I expected to see.”

She spun,
Seams Between the World
in her fist, ready to strike. The instinct to kill the owner of that voice poisoned her thoughts even as her eyes caught the warlock's face behind the greasy yellow orb floating in front of his outstretched hand.

“Chukshene,” she hissed as he took a step back.

“Nysta?” Melganaderna pushed past the warlock. Took in the debris and grinned at the elf. Looked almost like she was about to hug her, but quickly changed her mind and instead settled on slapping the elf's shoulder with a heavy hand. “It's good to see you. We thought we'd lost you.”

“You scared the shit out of us,” Chukshene said, still wary of her reaction to him. “Again.”

The elf sheathed the small knife and her smile was cold. “Reckon you should be used to being afraid, 'lock. You do it often enough.”

“I didn't expect you to break down a fucking wall,” he retorted. “Not right in front of me like that. Don't you have any idea where you are? You're kind of lucky to be alive, you know. Hemlock here was about half a fucking second away from turning you into a smouldering pile of ash. If I'm a little on edge in a place like this, it's not because I'm a coward. It's because, unlike you, I'm fucking smart enough to know I should be. This isn't an ordinary fortress, you know.”

Melganaderna licked her lips.
Torment
hung low in her hand, but something about its angle suggested she was also wary of the elf's malevolent expression. Could sense the hatred building in the elf with every word Chukshene uttered. The young axewoman was puzzled, but eager to move on. “Maybe we should keep moving?”

“We think there's a way out,” Hemlock said. He looked more distracted than before. Lost in his own thoughts. “The old stories of Rule and Grim never mentioned the caverns. It's said they entered Urak's Keep from a pass in the mountains. We think the Keep must open out there somewhere. If we keep going, we might get lucky and find the door. Chukshene, do you want to try the next one?”

The warlock nodded, stepping past the elf. He shot her a smirk as he held his hand before some of the spidery writing which ran along the hall. Uttered a few words and the runes nearby glowed brightly for a moment before the wall began to tremble. Light flickered from deep inside the rock itself and, as though the stone was yawning, it opened with a shudder of heavy stone to form a smooth, yet crooked, doorway.

Feigning a casual attitude he wasn't feeling, Chukshene glanced at the rubble still scattered around the elf's boots. Smiled. Said; “See? That's how civilised people use a door. Impressive, right?”

Nysta shrugged. “If there's an elf word for friend, then I didn't know it,” she said cryptically. Then grinned, showing bloodstained teeth. “But I reckon I still made the more smashing entrance.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“There are dead things in here,” Melganaderna said, moving up beside the elf. She kept her voice low. The sound of her words resonated heavily, causing Nysta to suppress a shudder. “Lots of them. And they're not staying dead. We had to fight a few just before you busted through that wall. To tell the truth, I nearly split you in half thinking you were more of them. Hem's been trying to figure out where they are. Or at least what's controlling them. But since we made it into the Keep, he's been out of it. He's trying, though. It's not easy for him. He needs rest.”

Nysta nodded absently, eyes searching the new room.

It was large. Had once been a hall, perhaps. A few pools of thick black slime speckled the uncertain ground. Ground which showed evidence of the carnage which had wrought when Rule and Grim brought their armies deep into the Keep.

Ruined benches and a heavy feasting table which had once taken up almost half the hall. It now lay in splinters, its broken skeleton mingling with chunks of stone. A few ribs of bone jutted from the mounds of dust-layered rubble.

Heavy cracks in the plaster rippled like black lightning frozen against the wall, striking through heavy stains. Thick black scorch marks streaked across the room, burnt into both the walls and the floor. Sign, she figured, of spellslingers and their cursed magic.

The ceiling drooped in the centre above her head, the chandelier hanging precariously on its last few threads of rope.

A few rotting banners draped the walls, alien sigils of ancient clans slumped in defeat.

Did vampires have clans?

She frowned, careful of the shifting ground as she moved forward. Her mind consumed by questions of how the world must have been when the Vampire Lords ruled the world during the Night Age.

“Must've really been a world of darkness,” she said to herself.

“We should be careful here,” Hemlock wheezed. He sounded affected by the dust and stifled a sneeze as if to prove it. “She's watching.”

Melganaderna reached for him. “Who's watching, Hem?”

“Her. The Queen. Her eyes are everywhere here.” His fact contorted suddenly. Confused. “There's something else, too. I don't know. It's there, but not there. Alive, but not. Pain, too. There's so much pain.”

As if to emphasise his point, one of the walls spat a few sparks which made them jump. Nysta, nerves stretched tight, rounded on it.
A Flaw in the Glass
boiling green venom at the shadows. Adrenaline crashed through her chest and into her brain, sharpening all her senses.

A few more sparks fizzed as a shuddering mechanical groan rumbled deep with the belly of the Keep.

Then silence.

“You had to ask,” Chukshene muttered, wrapping his arms tight around himself. “Doesn't anyone learn?”

The axewoman's grin was impish in the face of the warlock's scowl, but her words were aimed at Hemlock. “If she sees us, why doesn't she do something now? We're in the Keep, right? We're right here under her nose. But I don't hear her laughing any more. Do you? Hem?”

“What?” The necromancer blinked as if trying to wake. His eyes were still staring at where the sparks had leapt from the stone. “Sorry, Melgana. I don't know why she does what she does. There could be a lot of reasons. All I can say is there's a lot of power here. A lot. Chukshene, can't you feel it?”

“We're in a place we shouldn't be,” the warlock said hollowly. “I'll tell you the truth, Hemlock. All I feel is a full bladder and an army of fucking ants crawling up and down my fucking spine. They're not biting yet, but I have a feeling they're about to. This place gives me the creeps. If it weren't for that bastard cleric being in here, I wouldn't be here at all. Shit. Did you hear that?”

Nysta shook her head. “Ain't nothing, 'lock. Was just water in a pipe.”

“You sure? It's not going to start fucking zapping us is it? There's too much energy in these walls for my liking. It's not right.”

She nodded. Challenging the rising fear, she strode deliberately toward the middle of the room where the light, cast from the old chandelier's flickering candles, was brighter.

The warlock's yellow orb followed hesitantly.

“She's insane,” Hemlock was mumbling to Melganaderna. “That's what it is. Her madness infects everything. So much hate. So much grief. She's drowning in it. Fuck.”

He pressed his fists to his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

Didn't seem to notice as she put her arm around him, axe held uselessly in her other hand.

“Come on, Hem. Not much further.”

Chukshene shuffled closer to the elf. His expression was cautious and he stayed just out of reach. “Are you okay?”

“You ever get sick of asking that?”

“Not really. I'm a nice guy, after all. Everyone says so. Also, have I ever told you that the way you answer with one hand on your knife while spitting insults always makes every question exciting?” He squatted as they waited for Melganaderna to pull Hemlock together again. “I was concerned, Nysta. That's all. Is that such a bad thing? I mean, it was a long way down.”

“I felt it.”

“I bet you did. I saw you hit. You know, that kind of fall would kill a normal person. Even a normal elf, I suspect.”

She clenched her teeth, his voice pushing her to remember another time she'd been close to death. She remembered the black tendrils drilling into her wrist, Gaket's voice strong in her ears. Remembered the icy cold freezing into her arm from the opened Cage.

Remembered waking.

Finding him toying with the box.

He'd called it a Cage, she reminded herself.
Cage
was his word, not Talek's. To Talek, it'd always been a box. A mystery box passed down through his family over generations.

What had it let loose? The warlock had seen it. Watched as it ate through her flesh. And he'd done nothing to stop it. The heat built quickly in her guts. Rose on a trickle of bile up through her throat and she bit back the bitter taste, forcing her face to remain impassive.

“You trying to say something, Chukshene? If you are, I reckon you can quit fishing and spit it out before you catch something you weren't expecting. Probably in the mouth.”

The heat in her voice made him still. “Just that I know things are different for you now. And they must be confusing. You're going through a lot. And, believe it or not, I understand that.” He smiled. The kind of smile which made his gaunt face look even more gaunt. It also made her realise how little she knew about him. Like, how old was he? In that moment, he looked older than the newly-seasoned apprentice she'd taken him for. “I understand it more than you realise. I can help you. If you want me to.”

“If I want anything from you, I'll let you know. So quit fucking pushing me.”

“I'm not pushing you, you stubborn-” He let his breath out hard between his lips, reeling in his temper. “You never make it easy, do you?”

“This way,” Melganaderna said suddenly, brushing past the warlock. She still had one arm around Hemlock and was trying to keep him from falling to his knees. His pale skin looked even paler. His hair whiter.

The elf caught Hemlock's eyes for a brief moment. He looked dazed, close to slipping into unconsciousness. But he also looked determined to not let that happen.

With obvious effort, he raised an arm. Pointed. “There's a doorway there. I think we need to go this way.”

“That a guess?”

“Yes.” He managed a quick smile despite the weakness hounding him. “Yes, it is. But under the circumstances, it's probably a good one. Chukshene? Could you...?”

“Sure,” the warlock dusted off his ragged robes. Headed toward where the necromancer had been pointing and held his hand up. Palm aimed at the wall. Feeling his way toward the hidden door.

When he'd murmured the right words, stone grated heavily as it rippled open. The runes glittered as though infected with stars. Bowed with a mocking flourish as he motioned the two humans through.