Blade Of The Vampire King (Book 4) by Lucas Thorn Page B

covering the floor.
    It sent her wheeling sideways and she used the momentum to swing herself around, aiming a kick at her attacker. A kick which caught him flush across his ribs. Toe first, so the impact sent pain blossoming from a sharp point. He choked, but managed to bring his weapon up to drive A Flaw in the Glass away from his throat.  
    The two blades snapped against each other with a steely rasp.
    He reared above her. Grinned. Buckled teeth showing between cracked lips.
    “You'll die by my sword, Tainted,” he said, covering her in his septic breath. “I'll be more than Accepted, then. Rule will cleanse my blood and I'll be Forgiven!”
    “Reckon I'll save him the trouble, feller,” she said through her teeth as she wrenched herself around his wild swing. Thrust her knee up hard into his lower abdomen to double him over. Pressed Foxwise up against his neck, just under his ear. Watched the fear bloom. “Forgive you right here, only way I know how.”  
    Then, before he could comprehend her words, she used the palm of her hand to slam the blade hard into his brain.
    Blood gushed down her arm, but her gaze had left him as fast as his soul. She moved, leaving spots of crimson in her wake.
    Dodged another skeleton's wayward attempt to grab her.
    Used the body of a fallen Grey Jacket as a springboard to dive over a couple more undead warriors and landed deftly beside Melganaderna.
    Pressed her back against the young axewoman's and eyed the skeletons closing in.
    “Reckon Hemlock works the same as Chukshene?”
    “How's that?” Melganaderna's breath came in shaky gasps. Despite her bravado and enthusiasm, killing was still something new to her. It showed how little she'd faced death. Her opponents had mostly been other soldiers. Not creatures from the depths of nightmare.
    So, she knew the moves, but not the psychological depths of brutality.
    Still, she held her fear with a determination the elf was grudgingly beginning to admire.
    “You do the fighting while he spends his time reading?”
    “Sounds about right.”
    “Got much more in you?”
    “Fight?” Melganaderna used the heavy battleaxe's long handle to block the Dhampir's snarling jaws. Then jerked downward. Hard. Managed to rip a long line in its cheek as it pulled its head back to avoid the flashing crescent-shaped blade. She took a half-step toward it, away from the elf. “I haven't even started. I could fight all day.”
    “Might have to if he reads as slow as the 'lock,” Nysta growled, throwing herself at the closest skeleton warriors.
    It was like hitting a wall of corruption.
    The eldritch stench of decay woven into the bitter stink of magic. Sharp bones raked out, broken tips slashing skin and tearing at her jacket.
    From the corner of her eye, she saw the last Grey Jacket fall shrieking to a couple of skeletons who slowly and methodically tore his stomach open and began scooping out his guts.
    They made no effort to do anything with them. Neither to consume them like a Draug, or treasure them like a goblin. Instead, they left his innards steaming on the floor while he screamed until his brain finally accepted death and snuffed the flickering light of his soul.
    Then they turned toward her, fleshless grinning faces making the hairs on the back of her neck rise in horror. Dark empty sockets devoid of expression.
    They attacked without communication. Just a wave of mindless strikes without form or skill. The elf grunted warily. It wasn't the most effective way to defeat an enemy, she thought as she spat bitterly to the floor, but it got the job done. Eventually.
    Cuts quickly opened across her face and hands.
    Long fingers grabbed her shoulders, trying to pull her into an icy cold grip.
    Old death and new death competing to fuel her fear.
    Fresh meat and rotten bones.
    She slipped on a puddle of blood. Landed on one knee. Had to work hard to fight free of the sudden surge of animated dead. Desperation fuelled by fear as she lashed out wildly