Blade Of The Vampire King (Book 4) (23 page)

He looked up, caught her expression and winced. “Ah. Okay.”

Quickly, he raised his hand. Began the words which would close the opening in the wall. Old words not spoken in so long the Keep had almost forgotten them. A few sparks coughed from the stone as his words rolled across the shadows.

Body tense and ready to move, the elf's eyes narrowed to the thinnest of violet slits. Heart racing, she waited for the door to begin closing.

When the loud grinding of stone had finished and they were completely enveloped within the ruined library, she still didn't relax. Cocked her head and kept listening.

Waiting.

Trying to feel the source of her anxiety.

“How long?” Chukshene asked, using his foot to send a small pile of books crashing aside so he could peruse the hidden volumes sheltered beneath for any which might have escaped the destruction.

The elf pursed her lips. “Ain't sure. But something's on its way.”

“Hemlock?” Chukshene stumbled through the rubble toward the necromancer. “We've got to get ready.”

The necromancer didn't move. He squatted, partially in shadow. A large book, its spine clinging urgently to its ancient pages, shivered in his hands. “I think . . . this is something.”

Melganaderna drifted smoothly, her footing always sure on the uncertain ground. She took a position closer to him. Lifted the cruel battleaxe until one of its broad blades was aimed at where the door had been open.

And waited.

The elf ran her tongue along the back of her teeth. The acrid stench of magic strong in her nostrils. Filling her lungs. “You find anything useful, Chukshene? Or you sitting this one out, too?”

“I'm not sure,” he admitted, not taking offence. “Give me a second.”

“Ain't no prizes for seconds here, 'lock,” she said. Drew
A Flaw in the Glass
and
Go With My Blessing
. Felt more comfortable with the handles in her fists.
 

Hemlock twisted on his heel as he pulled himself to his full height. Looked around like he was seeing the library for the first time. Aimed a puzzled expression at the elf. “Nysta? Why are you standing there?”

The small hairs prickled down the back of her neck and spine.

Her palm itched like crazy. “There a reason I shouldn't?”

The necromancer looked more dazed than ever. Eyes shining a little too bright.

Melganaderna frowned at him as his voice, struggling to be heard, finally brought the silence crashing down around them as he said; “Because it's right behind you.”

Whatever had paused its breath, now exhaled.

“Fuck,” she spat.

And moved. Dived forward as the wall behind her exploded with a gush of stone and plaster. A waterfall of sparks cascaded and bounced, each small star flaring before it died. A massive arm, impossibly muscled and with metallic claws longer than a Dhampir's, lashed at the air where her head had been.

She landed on her face, rolling painfully across the uneven ground. The jagged spines of brittle books bit at her flesh as she scrambled over them. Desperate to regain her footing.

Chukshene howled words of power and sent a heavy ball of magefire roaring past and into the hole. His voice died with a strangled gasp as he finished casting and whatever had torn a hole through the solid rock let out an animal shriek. Not of pain. But outrage.

It yanked its arm back through the hole and began smashing at the wall in a frenzy, sending heavy chunks of torn rock flying inward.

The elf tucked a leg up to avoid being crushed beneath a large block and finally managed to jump to her feet. Her arm moved of its own volition and
Go With My Blessing
disappeared through the hole. Another shriek.

“I think you're pissing it off,” Melganaderna said, a hint of hysteria in her voice.

The elf spat wetly at the ground again. The familiar fumes of rage curdled her blood. Tasted iron in her mouth. “That ain't nothing to how I feel.”

Its blows rained heavier against the wall, sending cracks webbing out from the damaged hole in the rock. Melganaderna flinched at each immense strike, but kept her position. The enchantments on her axe gleamed brightly.

Chukshene was beside Hemlock, shaking the necromancer. “Come on,” he was shouting. Ashen-faced, the warlock looked ready to vomit as he battled to clear the effects of casting without his grimoire while trying to rouse the necromancer. “Snap out of it, man! Shit. Nysta? He's fucked up. I don't know what it is. I should have paid more attention to it. This place is a necromancer's fucking paradise. It must be overwhelming to him.”

“The dead wake,” Hemlock said in a dry whisper which echoed solemnly within the room. “They wake. And they hunger. Though they don't know what they hunger for. And there's something else. What is it? It's in the walls. Inside the walls. No. It
is
the walls. The walls are not what they seem.”

Nysta clenched
A Flaw in the Glass
, feeling her blood pound heavily through her heart. “Hit him,” she commanded Chukshene. “Before he starts talking about owls.”

“Owls? What the fuck are you on about?” The warlock's voice rose hysterically as whatever was on the other side of the wall pounded even harder on the stone.

“Just pull him back together, Chukshene. Do it quick.” Her mouth curled slightly. “Before this lynch mob makes it through the wall.”

“Hem?” Melganaderna inched sideways, not daring to take her hands off the long handle of her battleaxe as the monstrous creature hammered at the wall. The plaster skin dropped with a crash, sending a wave of dust billowing toward them. With a yelp, Melganaderna brought
Torment
up high above her head, preparing herself.

The elf clenched her jaw. Wondered at the strength needed to smash through stone. The one she'd broken through had hurt enough, but it had been structurally weakened by centuries of water and mould.

This one was dry.

Heavy.

And resistant. Solid rock apparently from the mountain's guts itself.

Yet, to whatever was trying to get in, it was little more than wood.

The stone split with an emphatic crunch.

Hemlock shook his head, trying to clear his mind as Chukshene began slapping him.

“Left,” Nysta said through her teeth.

Melganaderna nodded and skipped sharply off to the elf's left.

Nysta drew
The Ugly
from its sheath along her back. The heavy blade glinted horribly in her fist. A savage knife made for a savage purpose. To rip and tear.
 

A Flaw in the Glass
hummed in her other hand, its venomous green glow encircling an equally vicious blade. A sawtoothed spine and a wide curved belly beautifully made to sink deep under ribs in search of a heart she doubted this creature possessed.
 

Silently, she asked them to strike true.

“You wait,” she called to the young axewoman crouching nervously beside a ruined bookcase. “I'll tell you when. You don't move a second before. I don't want you in my way, or accidentally chopping me in half with that thing.”

“I'll be ready,” Melganaderna said, voice firm.

The elf nodded. Though she recognised the young woman's fear, she also recognised her determination. The steel of her spine was stronger than the enchanted axe she carried.

Odd, thought the elf, that she should respect a Caspiellan.

She'd never felt anything but contempt for them before.

Contempt they had earned in her eyes.

The insects raced along her flesh. Crawling like worms around her guts. Spine. Shoulders. Biceps clenched, she felt them wriggle down to her elbow. Past forearms.

Wrist.

The ball of ice rolled in her belly. Its icy edge ground at her guts.

The wall let out a tortured groan and the spiderweb of cracks coughed dust and shards of stone.

Thud.

Thud.

So heavy and hard it made her heart leap each time.

“Nysta?” Chukshene called frantically. “I'll find a way out. Another door. Hold on.”

“You do that,” she said. Her voice echoed in her ears. The ice cold fear was calming. An old friend holding her in a familiar embrace.

But she knew the insects would bring heat.

Could already feel the blind and unfocussed hatred churning beneath its icy skin.

Thud.

Thud.

And the wall gave way in a thunder of shattered stone, mingled with the roar of a creature hauled from the cursed depths of the Shadowed Halls. A nightmarish thing which looked to be a revived troll, its flesh pinned to a skeleton made solely of broken swords.

The swords of the fallen.

It bristled with steel as blades ripped out of its body like unnatural spines stained with old blood and the creature's own ripped entrails. The grotesque skull, only loosely covered by rotting flesh wired to the bone, grinned at them. A mask of pure madness and a need for destruction born from the agony of its forced existence.

The claws of its only arm twitched like scissors. Four heavy bastard swords with jagged edges erupting from blunted fingers. Clicking and clacking, it took a hesitant step into the room. Turned its empty eye-sockets on Nysta and reared up high its twisted legs to let out another roar which made the insects crawling across her body pause.

It took an awkward step forward. Joints, bound by magic and the leather straps taken from old shields, ground horribly against each other.

The elf stood her ground.

Wiped her mouth with the back of her fist. “Well,” she said. “You're a big motherfucker, I'll give you that. Ugly, too. But I ain't in the mood for predators like you.”

It let out a gurgling growl in response and took another step. Its foot sank deep into the carpet of ruined books as its weight flattened everything beneath it. Swords rasped as a seemingly endless number of blades scraped against each other.

“Nysta?” Melganaderna hefted
Torment
.
 

“Wait,” the elf snapped. Bared her teeth as the shrill laughter of the Vampire Queen blasted from the darkness behind the creature.

“
See what nightmare I have created from the weapons you drew against us? See it? Feel the hatred you brought to this place. Feel it twisted back upon you a thousandfold. Taste my revenge. Taste it!
”
 

“Now ain't the time to choke.” the elf drawled. “So I reckon I'll try that dish later.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Gul'Se howled mindlessly, her shrieks retreating back into the bowels of Urak's Keep as though on the wings of giant bats.

Then, freed of some invisible leash, the creature ambled forward. Black slime drooling from its jaws. More swords slit through reanimated flesh as it moved.

Nysta, the ice finally giving way to the volcanic rage which had hounded her through the Bloods, sprang forward to meet it. Her mind sang with her own need to kill and she felt no hesitation despite the roiling horror in her guts at facing such a twisted creature.

A flurry of worms squirreling around the bones of her arms.

She had no time to think about it.

No time to shudder.

Had time only to squeeze the handles of her knives harder before she was forced to weave past the creature's massive clawed hand to bury both blades up to their hilts in its steel-pierced chest.

Thought she'd aimed her strike precisely where its heart should have been and expected the creature to stagger or lurch. Instead, the back of its forearm smashed into her side as it lashed out blindly. Didn't even seem to notice the two fresh holes drooling slime in its chest.

Was lucky the blow had glanced off the wyrmskin jacket. Lucky it had struck blindly. Because if its arm had hit firm and hard, the swords would no doubt have cut her to ribbons as well as pummel her ribs to shrapnel.

As it was, however, it still hurt.

Skidding back on her feet and coughing for breath, the elf twisted her lip and went back for more.

“Nysta?”

The elf ignored the young woman's call for guidance. Began slashing at the creature's skin, hoping to loosen the fleshy bonds which bound its sword-wrapped skeleton together.

It wasn't easy.

The creature's agony made it unfeeling to her strikes and its insanity kept it quick. The blades which speared out from its flesh might have been broken, but it didn't make them any less sharp and soon she was dripping blood as she danced around its primal lunges. Her own blood.

A deep gouge lined her thigh. Another furrowed across her forearm, having torn a strap on her bracer to rip into her skin.

Chukshene had given up on shouting at Hemlock. The warlock shut his eyes spat curses at himself. Hitting his forehead with the heel of his palm in frustration.

On the ground at his feet, Hemlock moaned from somewhere deep in his belly. His eyes rolled back in their sockets.

The warlock's frustration was infectious.

Her probing into the creature's flesh had revealed no weaknesses. No organs to stab. No gut to tear open. No ties to cut. And, other than her own, no blood to spill. It was a sourced by magic.

Only magic could destroy it, she thought. And both spellslingers didn't look up to the task.

She knew Melganaderna was anxious to engage the beast. Knew the young woman wanted to tear it apart with that horribly over-sized battleaxe of hers. But the elf doubted it could cut through the steel-bound core. Doubted the axe could do more than she was trying herself. And, even if it did, it probably wouldn't kill it.

Already the slender ribbons of flesh which she'd slashed with her knives were healing on the creature's joints. Snaking back together. Pulling tighter. It picked itself up and began moving with its ponderous steps which, so far, were her only advantage. Up close, it was fast. But its legs carried a weight it couldn't shift with any speed.

Which meant they could run. Maybe the warlock could open a door. Maybe they could get away from it.

But the elf quickly dismissed that thought. Gul'Se would guide it. It wouldn't stop. It would keep coming. Relentless and devoid of fear. It would shuffle behind them until it cornered them.