Read Online Revenge Of The Elf (Book 1) by Lucas Thorn - Free Book Online Page B

along his throat like someone'd tried opening him up and didn't do a good job. Not for lack of trying, I'd say. Awful looking thing. Worse scar than yours. Their leader, though. Come to think of it. He had red hair. That looked pretty strange. Don't see many elfs with red hair. Others looked just like I said. Normal bunch of Long-ears.”
    The elf frowned. There were plenty of elfs in the Deadlands. Lostlight was decaying under the constant threat of attack from the southern kingdoms. The city slowly eating itself with fanged mouths of fear and mistrust as the guilds struggled to retain their sliding grip on power. With Grim no longer holding the combined peoples of the north together, old feuds had reignited.
    Even King Jutta seemed unable to distance himself from the growing rifts.
    Some of the smaller guilds had even quit the city. Headed north to beyond the Great Wall. Fewer still had been reluctant to leave the city and so came to the Deadlands to hide from their more powerful new enemies. Hoping to rebuild their flagging strength and return triumphant one day.
    Something else, though, tugged at her thoughts and she looked up at the wagoner as suspicion gnawed behind her eyes. “Red hair? You sure? How red? Red like rust, or red like blood?”
    The wagoner ran his hand over his stubbled cheek. “Blood, I guess. He stood out like an ork in a Ruleist church. I didn't like him. His eyes were too pale, you know? Like they were dead. They wore grey tabards, too, if that helps any.”
    Her eyes thinned to slits. “Grey? Any insignia on them?”
    “None I could see. But seemed to me they were covering something up. I don't know. Just the impression I got.”
    “But there were nine of them? You're sure about that?”
    “I'm sure. I counted twice because I didn't think Ollie'd have enough arrows,” he looked over his shoulder before whispering. “Or that he'd shoot fast enough to cut them down before they got to us.”
    “Got anything to drink?” Chukshene cut in. He tossed the wrapping onto the fire where it flared intensely for a moment before curling into a tight wadded ball of black.
    “Stream over there,” Carter jerked his thumb over his shoulder to where Ollie had taken the horses.
    “Oh,” the spellslinger peered into the gloom at the trees. Their twisted trunks creaked at him and the sun, groping blindly at the edge of the world, shone its pale light through their scattered branches. The effect made him think a thousand eyes were watching him.
    Waiting for him.
    The spellslinger sucked on his teeth. Scratched his chin nervously and wrapped both arms around his book. “Well. I guess I'll be fine. It can wait 'til morning.”
    “The others say his name?” Nysta asked quietly.
    “Huh?”
    “The red-haired elf. They give him a name?”
    The wagoner shook his head. “Not that I recall, no. He didn't speak much. Just told the others to keep moving. They did like he said. Seemed to be in charge. Sorry, Long-ear. I can't help you much. They were just a bunch of mean bastards who rode past. Were there for less than a few minutes and didn't come back.”
    Her mind raced over this information and an image of a face rose out of the murkiness of her memory. “Raste,” she muttered.
    “Sorry?”
    “Raste. If it's him, and of course it fucking would be, then the nine are the Bloody Nine. Fuck.”
    “Bloody Nine?” Carter frowned.
    “They don't sound friendly,” Chukshene said drily.
    “They ain't.”
    A shivering wind sucked at her cheeks and she suddenly felt so tired. The tension pulling at her face and shoulders as she struggled to push her ballooning sorrow and rage down into the dark pit of her heart was getting too much to bear.
    She wanted to get up and run screaming through the trees.
    Wanted to shout at the sky.
    Spit curses to all the gods.
    To close her eyes and weep herself to sleep.
    Raste.
    It would be him. She had no doubt of it.
    “Nysta?” the spellslinger was looking at her oddly. “You