Streaking to her left, her eyes clamped onto the released arrowhead like magnets to iron. It buzzed through the air and drove hard into the log on which she'd been sitting with a frustrated thunk.

“Bitch!” the archer spat. He threw his bow aside as she whirled into range, sliding a brutal-looking knife from his hip and spinning it in his hand. “Come on then, Tainted slut! You don't frighten me! I cut up your kind plenty of times before.”

The elf circled slowly as the threat of the bow was removed. She wasn't eager to die, so kept her eyes on the knife, aware of Carter standing back. The hawk-nosed man wasn't a fighter and looked unable to decide what to do.

Dismissing both the confused wagoner and the stunned spellslinger behind her, she focussed completely on the archer.

Could see how much he wanted to sink the blade into her guts. Could smell the hate radiating off him in waves as he revelled in thoughts of tearing the skin from her body. That he'd called her Tainted showed his sympathies, and the boiling hatred he nurtured meant the slender strand of humanity he’d possessed was being strangled with each passing second.

Soon, he’d feel only a thin razor-sharp determination to kill. Hesitation would cease to exist and reflex would take over.

She knew this, because she possessed the reflexes of a killer and virtually none of the hesitation. She'd been trained for it both as an urchin on the streets of Lostlight and, later, in service to the King.

So, she watched him. And kept her patience.

Searching.

For an opening.

“Cut up my kind, huh?” she grinned cruelly, knowing the hate would flare in him. Knowing that hate would fuel impatience. “You ain’t got no fucking idea what kind I am.”

“Don't matter,” the archer sneered. “You'll soon be the best kind of Long-ear there is. On account of being the dead kind.”

She let him make the first move. A choice which nearly got her killed, because he was faster than she'd expected.

Most humans moved slower than elfs, but Ollie was quick enough that the dagger sliced across her rib. She had to fling herself awkwardly to avoid taking the full force of the blade.

Saved from bleeding only by the tough wyrmskin, the elf snarled a curse as her boot slipped on a stone hidden beneath snow and nearly twisted her ankle. She stumbled, arms wheeling as she tried to catch her balance.

He gave a yelp of pleasure at seeing her tumble and rushed in, sensing an advantage. His fist screamed toward her jaw.

But the advantage he'd sensed, wasn't really there.

Recovering fast, she countered his attack with one of her own. Powered into him, her shoulder smashing hard into his ribs, spinning him around. Driving him back with a series of sweeping kicks, she grinned tightly as the dance of violence pumped her body full of adrenaline.

Ollie bit back a curse as her boot smashed against his thigh. Rocked to a staggering halt, he tried gaining momentum by swinging his arm at her, his fist thirsting for blood as it blurred toward her face.

It was the worst move he could make.

Entrance Exam flashed. The blade's belly tore smoothly into his incoming fist, entering between the two middle knuckles and carving up along the bones of his fingers as though cutting through cheese.

Then stopped as it chopped into the bones of his wrist.

His arm shuddered to a halt inches from her face and she felt his weight press against her. For a moment, their eyes met and she saw the triumph in his eyes die at the sight of blood pumping from his hand.

With a savage jerk, she ripped the blade free in a downward motion. Blood spattered at their feet and she spun ruthlessly on her heel.

Agony travelled up the nerves of his wounded hand to slam into his brain like a sledge. He screamed, then screamed again as the elf swatted his wounded arm aside so she could charge into him, ramming her shoulder hard into his chest to send him staggering back on failing legs.

Realising he'd underestimated the elf, he twisted awkwardly. Tried to run. Managed to half-turn away before the flash of A Flaw in the Glass lit up the campsite with its ravenous glow.

The elf's face was a mask of rage held tight over a core of joy as she attacked. The need to kill chased her soul like a starving wolf. She struck, a brutal blow that squeezed every ounce of strength from her arm. A Flaw in the Glass buried itself to the hilt in his chest.

Gently, she pressed her face against his, smelling his unwashed skin. Feeling a gasp of rancid breath rush against her cheek. “Tried to tell you,” she said calmly, holding A Flaw in the Glass as still as she could. “I ain't any kind of kind.”

Then ripped the blade upward, ignoring ribs to shear through his collarbone and explode free with a powerful spray of blood. Pulled a scream out from somewhere so deep inside him that it sounded to her ears as though his soul itself was screaming.

Nysta paused above the body, her cold gaze scanning the bloodied chest. The gaping wound drew no new emotions from her and she wondered when it was that she'd lost the power to feel anything at all when faced with the awful sight of a man with his chest opened up.

Then thought of Talek, and her heart tightened as though a fist clenched around the beating muscle.

Carter dropped his hatchet and knife. Vomited heavily on the cold earth, his body heaving as he fought waves of horror and revulsion.

Slowly, she turned toward him.

“Carter Holl,” she said, her voice sounding hollow in her ears. “You tried to kill me. I gotta tell you, that kind of thing pisses me off.”

“Please, Long-ear,” he whimpered, clawing at the sodden ground. “Don't kill me. Please. I'll go. You won't ever see me again. I swear it! But, please, don't kill me!”

“Nysta,” Chukshene wiped his mouth and gripped the grimoire so tight she thought he might break it in two. “Please. No more. That’s enough.”

“I'll give you your coin back!” The wagoner struggled to pull the coins from his purse. They scattered out of his shaking hands and glinted in flickering firelight. “Here! Have it all! Have it. Just let me live!”

“Money can buy anything,” the elf said, her words coming slow and soft like a silk ribbon.

Chukshene sucked a quick breath.

The wagoner looked up, hope spreading over his face. Smiled weakly. “Thankyo-”

And got no further. Entrance Exam flashed like a steel hummingbird. The slender blade flew from her fingers in a steely blur. Then splashed into his eye and drilled into his brain with brutal efficiency.

A puff of red mist burst from the wound.

He dropped without a sound, his body giving a single violent spasm before death wrenched all sign of life away.

“But it won't buy me,” she finished coldly.

“Son of a fucking bitch,” Chukshene croaked, his mouth hanging slack.

She turned towards the spellslinger, A Flaw in the Glass glowing in her fist. The aftermath of violence made her quiver and her violet eyes glittered dangerously in his direction.

He scrambled backward, bringing up his grimoire like a shield. “Grim's withered cock! I didn't mean anything! Nysta, listen to me, I'm not-”

“Relax, mage,” she hissed through her teeth. “I know what you fucking are.”

Working deliberately, the elf knelt to wipe the gore from her enchanted blade on Ollie's cloak. Slid the blade into its sheath before taking the dead archer's knife in her hand and looking at it with a critical eye.

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It was a practical weapon but with a jagged saw-toothed spine which seemed to be chopped into the steel for no reason other than to cause more pain. The handle was overly smooth wood and would need binding with leather if she didn't want to lose it when her fingers were slick.

The edge was dull through lack of care. She figured the archer spent more time on his bow. But otherwise, it was in good condition.

She spun it lightly in her fingers to test its weight. Decided it was worth keeping.

With a callous smirk, the elf sheathed the freshly named Kindness in a sheath inside her boot. Lifted her gaze and flexed her wrists before checking the body of Carter Holl. Snatched Entrance Exam and pulled it free with an awful sucking sound that made the spellslinger flinch.

She felt his gaze on her as she moved.

Knew he was still worried she'd turn on him at any moment, but the rage which had chewed through her self control had already eased. It left behind a hollow sense of despair sliding around her heart like a worm.

The elf crouched low over the dead wagoner, her eyes drifting over the shadowy treeline. She could make out the sound of the small creek bubbling in the distance. A horse gave a low snort. Other than that, the land was steeped in icy silence.

“Are you okay?” he asked nervously. “Not going to slit my throat or anything?”

“If I were, spellslinger, I'd have done it by now.”

He turned her words over in his head a few times before letting out a sigh. “Guess you would have at that. Anyone ever tell you, Nysta, that you're more than just a little bit fucked up?” He scrubbed his fingers through his greasy hair before adding quickly; “No offence.”

The elf gave no reply. Instead grabbed hold of Carter's lifeless shoulders and began dragging the corpse away from the camp. He was heavy, but once she made the tree line, she kicked the body so it rolled out of view before returning for Ollie.

Found the mage picking his way over the bloodied ground, holding his robe high above his ankles. He had one hand wrapped delicately around one of the dead archer's boots and was hauling the body as though afraid of getting blood on his fingers.

With each step, his face twisted in distaste.

“This is awful,” he complained. “Fuck. The stink. You ever thought there were cleaner ways to kill a man?”

She cocked her head at him and rubbed the scar on her cheek. “Ain't no clean ways to kill, spellslinger.”

“I guess not. But there's gotta be less messy ways. You didn't have to open him up like a fish. I used to live near the docks, you know. In Doom's Reach. Used to stink of fishguts. This is worse. Much fucking worse.”

The elf headed to the wagon and leaned inside. Poked around until she found a scrap of cloth. Using it to wipe her hands free of blood, the elf craned her neck toward where she thought the stream was. Squinted into the gloom. “Reckon water's that way.”

“Fucked if I know,” Chukshene gagged, nudging the body with his boot to roll it up against the other wagoner's corpse. “Grim's balls, this is crazy. Ah, shit. I think I trod in something gross. Fuck. Nysta? Where you going? Hey! Long-ear?”

The stream's water was almost frozen.

Crisp flakes of ice drifted along the surface and collected along the pebbled bank. She watched the water flow through her fingers, taking a cloud of red away as though no blood had ever stained her hands. It was almost too easy to kill, she thought.

She heard a soft hushing sound and looked up.

Snow.

Delicate wafers drifting downward to bring more cold to the land. The elf grunted. Like it needed more.

A single flake brushed against her forearm. She watched it shrivel as it melted against the bracer hung loose from her arm. She lifted her hand and the droplet of water slid gently down the wyrmskin to seep into the crook of her arm before dripping off her elbow.

The drop seemed to hang in the air before plunging into the stream to be carried away.

Like blood.

Heading north toward the cabin she'd left behind.

A pinpoint of warmth stung the corner of her eye and she rubbed the tear angrily. She didn't have time for this.

Scooping a small handful of water, she splashed her open mouth. Felt the freezing water numb her lips. Gave a grunt as she wiped her hands on her pants and returned to the small camp.

Ignoring the dark patches on the ground and the long drag marks stained with blood, the elf dropped heavily beside the fire and peered deep into the fiery maw as though it could burn her memories away.

“Snow's coming again,” the spellslinger moaned. He blew into his hands, rubbing them together and holding them out toward the heat. “I fucking hate snow. It's fucking cold. You know, I think my balls are trying to roll up into my throat.”

“Talek,” she said.

The mage glanced at her, confused. “Huh?”

“You asked if anyone ever told me I was fucked up. Talek did. Said I was fucked up. Told me all the time.”

“He was right.”

“Maybe. He was a good judge of character. Had to be in his position.”

“Why? What was he?”

“Kulsa'Jadean.”

Chukshene frowned. “My elfish is mostly shit. And you Lostlighters aren't exactly normal elfs. Kulsa what?”

“Jadean. A guild. The Kulsa'Jadean are the King's personal guards.”

“That means he was good, right?”

“The best. He stood at Jutta's right side.”

“And you? You were a guard, too?”

“Me?” Nysta snorted. “You see me guarding anything?”

“I guess not.”

“I was just a raghead. Not important, really. Especially now. Seems a long time ago,” she brushed the tattered jacket. The right arm felt loose at the shoulder and she wasn't sure she could be bothered mending it again. “Was proud of it, once. That was a long time ago.”

“A raghead? That some kind of thug? You look like a thug. Again, no offence. I'm just saying...”

“Yeah,” she said bitterly. “It's something like that.”

“So that thing you've got going in your hair? All those bits of cloth? That's part of the uniform? Why tie all that shit in there anyway? What's it for? Patch your clothes? Looks like you need more of them.”

“Snow's gonna fall heavy tonight,” she said, ending that line of talk. She felt surprised she'd even spoken about it in the first place. She hardly knew the man and, even if she did, sharing her past wasn't something which came naturally to her. Absently, she fingered one of the scraps of cloth in her hair. “Best we use the wagon for shelter. I'll see to the horses. You put out the fire.”

“Put it out? What the fuck? It's all that's keeping me from turning into an icicle.”

“Leave it lit and we'll most likely burn in the night. Too much wood around, spellslinger. Even if most of it's wet, let's not take the chance.”

“Freeze, or burn?” He thumbed his nose. “Fuck. I don't know which I'd prefer.”

The elf shuddered, remembering the day Talek had been hit by magefire. How he'd screamed and screamed until she couldn't stand it anymore.

“Freezing is better,” she said. “Trust me on that.”

She slapped her thighs as she stood, brushing dirt and ignoring wet spots of fresh blood. Looked through the trees to where she figured the horses were tethered and headed in their direction.

Behind her, Chukshene started kicking earth onto the fire. “Glad I don't have tits,” he growled. “They'd have frozen off by now. Hey, Long-ear? You think there's wolves out here? I've heard they love nights like this. I hate wolves. I ever tell you that? Fucking animals. Evil balls of fur with fangs. Worse than cats. I hate cats, too. Make me sneeze. You know, up near Icereach, they get wolves the size of horses. Horses! Imagine that. Makes me want to puke just thinking about it.”

Nysta clicked her tongue as she neared the horses, ignoring the muttering mage. Approaching cautiously, she allowed them the chance to get used to her before she stepped too close.

“Take it easy,” she cooed softly. “You oversized lumps of shit.”

The closest let her touch its shoulder and she checked the tethers before accepting Ollie probably knew his job much better than she did. Admitted she didn't know much more about horses than how to tie them off and kick them in the ribs to get them to move faster.

The first horse she'd ridden had bitten her.

Only once.

The punch she'd aimed at its head ensured it didn't bite again. All the same, she didn't trust horses, and pretty much every one since had sensed her distrust.

The horse's eyes were glass orbs and the elf expected it to roll its head at any second and try to take out a chunk of her outstretched hand.

She inched her hand back slowly.

“Evil fuckers,” Chukshene said morosely, approaching from behind. “Horses, I mean.”

The elf grunted in agreement and pushed past him toward the wagon. The horses could die for all she cared. Told herself she could walk faster than they would anyway. “You look around?”

“What for?”

“Out here, you never can tell. We found an imp on our porch, once. Took a day to die and three goats with it. Out here they grow big. It had a mouth so big it could bite off your fucking arm. And claws bigger than swords. Sneaky fuckers, too. You don't hear them until they're gnawing through your skull. And there's worse than imps out here, I'll tell you that much.”

“Don't say that,” he whined. “I want to sleep tonight.”

She vaulted lightly into the wagon and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Aware the mage would have trouble with his human sight, she drew A Flaw in the Glass and allowed the green enchanted glow to fill the inner cavern of the canvas-clad wagon.

It was filled almost to the brim with crates. The heavy metallic smell hinted the wagoners were probably smuggling weapons. Many smugglers worked the Deadlands, and it would explain their reaction and subsequent attempt to rob them. Greed pulled their wagons as much as the horses.

She held the blade close to one of the crates, but the size suggested they contained swords rather than anything she'd find interesting. With a grunt, she looked around and found a small chest which appeared to hold more personal belongings.

“That's a novel way to use an enchanted blade,” the mage mused as he climbed in. “Does it do any other tricks?”

“Yeah,” she pulled a few blankets from inside the chest. Tossed him one and wrapped the other around her shoulders. “It silences mages.”

“Really?”

The elf mimed dragging A Flaw in the Glass over her throat. “Really.”

“Ah. Funny.” He settled his back against the side of one of the crates and shivered under the blanket. “You know, I think you missed your calling, Nysta. You could have been an entertainer. Performed at inns. Why, with your skill, you could've done palaces. Ah, the coin they would have thrown you. More often at you. In fact, lend me some and I'll do it myself. Doesn't have to be coin if you don't want. How about rocks? Want a rock in the face?”

“Go to sleep, spellslinger. Before your tongue kills you.”

Chukshene chewed his bottom lip. Slowly rested his head against the grimoire. “Fine, Long-ear. But first, can we make an agreement?”

“Regards to what?”

“I'm just not sure I trust you, Nysta. Actually, I'm pretty fucking sure I don't. And why should I? You've got more knives than I've got hairs on my nuts. Worse, you've got the look of someone dying to use them. I don't want to worry about waking in the middle of the night with my throat gushing blood, if you get my drift?” He eyed her warily as she casually spun A Flaw in the Glass in her fingers. The green light flickered eerily and he shuddered before continuing. “So, I'd like to make a truce. You don't try opening my veins, and I won't melt your face off. The thing is, I want to sleep easy for one night without having to keep hold of my magic just in case. And I'm sure you don't need any more practice after what you did to those two out there. So, what do you say, Long-ear? Think we can agree to be polite?”

“Sure, Chukshene,” the elf said, sheathing the blade and plunging the wagon's interior into darkness. “I reckon we can mind our manas for a bit.”