“Began almost a week ago,” the terrified man said. “This feller, he just appears out of the Deadlands. From the west. And nothing comes from the west, you know?”

“Why's that?” Chukshene asked.

“Nothing out there but mountains. Bigger than the Wyrm's Teeth up north. True that. I've seen both. After that, desert. Beyond that? More desert. Some say it's the path to the Shadowed Halls. Maybe it is. Maybe it ain't. But even the gods didn't want nothing to do with it. Nothing lives out there. But this feller, he came out of the mountains. And there was something wrong with him.”

The spellslinger leaned forward. “What?”

“Well. Dunno, really. Can't put my finger on it. But he didn't walk right. Or maybe he just didn't look proper human. I can't explain it. He just weren't right.”

The elf yawned and slid off the rock. Leaned back on it and held her boots out to the fire to warm her feet. She'd learnt to take rest whenever she could, and though her ears listened intently to McCabe's every word, outwardly she looked calm and uninterested, causing McCabe to aim his words to the warlock.

“He wasn't a troll?” Chukshene asked. “I've seen some funny looking trolls in my time. One I saw, he looked like a ten foot stick of celery with a head like a freshly shat dog turd and arms straight off a kraken. They can be pretty fucked up sometimes. Some even look pretty much like us. Maybe a nose like a horse's cock, but otherwise just like us.”

“Weren't no troll,” he said, his voice dull. “And we get some strange ones here, too. This feller had pale skin. And his eyes. Couldn't see them at all. It was like the shadows swallowed them up. Just looking at him made me want to throw up. Or shit my pants. Or both.”

The spellslinger tapped his book thoughtfully. “Cave troll? They can be pale.”

“It weren't no fucking troll,” McCabe insisted more firmly.

“'Lock?” Nysta rolled her head lazily in his direction. “Shut your mouth or I’ll kick it in. What next, McCabe?”

McCabe shot the warlock a dismissive glance. “Well, he walked up to the gate like he owned the fucking thing. Wanted to come inside. Thing is, at night, Captain Galen closes the gates. Never opened them at night. Not since a demon waltzed right in and started killing folks. Three years ago that was. I remember. Never thought anything could be worse than that night. Wrong about that, wasn't I? Should've left back then, but didn't. Figured it was a one time thing, you know? And the Captain said he'd keep the gates shut at night. All kinds of shit roams the plains at night. Goblins. Draug. Fucking frost giant walked right past us, once. Lucky it didn't step on a wall.”

“A frost giant?” Chukshene blinked. “This far south?”

“Seen them a few times,” McCabe shrugged. “Usually just passing. But with them, you never know when they’ll feel like gnawing on your roof, do you?”

“Fuck,” the spellslinger shuddered. “I hate frost giants.”

“You hate everything,” Nysta told him.

“Yeah? So? What's your point?”

The elf held up the knife. “This. Any more stupid questions?”

“That's good enough,” he said tightly.

“Good. Then, shut the fuck up. Again.”

“Yeah, well,” McCabe licked his lips nervously as the elf nodded for him to continue. “When he got to the gate, the Captain wasn't wanting to open up. Didn't fancy the stranger any more than I did. I was on the wall at the time. Just shootin' the shit with Logjam. He is – was – one of the orks. Was glad the Captain told the feller to move along or wait 'til morning. But the stranger didn't like it. Not at all. Got real mad. Yelled up to the Captain that he'd be sorry if he didn't just open up. That was enough for the Captain. He told the stranger to go fuck himself. Logjam laughed hard at that. But the stranger, he just looked up at us like we were nothing. I tell you, looking down at him there, I never felt colder in all my life. He took a few steps back like he was gonna leave. Then began howling. Like a fucking animal. No words. Just a long howl.”

“Like a wolf?” Chukshene interrupted, ignoring the elf's groan. “I fucking hate wolves almost as much as frost giants.”

“No, not a wolf. It was awful. I can't describe it. But it chilled me to the fucking bone. And it was like the night suddenly got darker. There weren't many clouds that night. You could see the stars, but when he howled, I swear they stopped shining,” he looked down at his hands, which were shaking. “Have you got anything to drink? I could use a drink.”

“You think if we did, I'd still be sober?” Chukshene dropped his pack and rummaged around inside. Pulled out one of the small packets he'd taken from the wagoners and tossed it over. “Here. Food's all I got.”

The trader sighed. “Not food I need,” he said, holding the packet as though unsure what to do with it. He dropped it in his lap and turned his gaze to the fire. “Thanks anyway.”

“Suit yourself. Long-ear?” the warlock held out another. She shook her head and he shrugged before stuffing some dried fruit into his mouth. “Fine. I'll eat it all. I don't mind.”

A vision of the pale creatures eating the flesh of their own flickered into her mind and she pushed it away with a grimace. To take her mind off the revolting memory, she began spinning A Flaw in the Glass in her hand, enjoying the mechanical motion. Looked at the trader as another thought came to mind. “He say anything?”

“What?”

“Feller at the gate. When he was done howling. He say anything?”

“Yeah,” McCabe put his hands on his knees and squeezed. “And when he spoke, it got even colder than an icewitch's tit. Said: The darkness will fight again.”

Nysta frowned. Something about the phrase tugged at her memory, but she couldn't put her finger on it. “That it?”

“Then those things… They came. They rose outta the ground. Like a herd of dead things rising from their graves. The stranger, he moved to the gate. Put his hand on it. And those gates, they were made of dwarven steel more than five inches thick. Leftovers from the war. Used to be one of Grim's forts, so it was built strong. They don't make gates like that anymore, for sure. Not since the dwarves fucked off. Armies tried getting through that wall, Long-ear. Last year, we had fifteen trolls trying to break through. They couldn't even scratch it. But this thing, he just fucking touched it. That's all. One little push and they buckled and twisted like they was made of paper.”

“Magic?” Chukshene asked.

McCabe shook his head. “Nope. Didn't do shit. Just touched it. Then those creatures, they came into the town. Killed everybody they could find. Galen was first. Worst thing I ever saw. I mean, I seen people die before. Ain't the first bad thing I've seen. This is the Deadlands, right? I've seen draugs. And what they do. But these things, they were cold. No fucking emotion. Just tore him apart. Almost like they wanted to see what he was made of. So cold. Like spiders. It was fucked up,” he shivered violently. “Real fucked up.”

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“But you survived,” her eyes narrowed. “How'd you do that?”

McCabe snorted. “Survived? I didn't survive. They just didn't want me, yet. Lot of us managed to hide. Could hear each other, sometimes. I hid in widow Kuper's shack for a while. We didn't know what to do,” he screwed up his face, closing his eyes. “She tried to make a run for it. Poor Alys. Didn't make it. Ripped her to pieces right in front of the gates. Grim's eyes, you should've heard her scream. Had my fingers in my ears and I could still hear her. Do you know what that's like, Long-ear? To hear someone begging to die, but you can't do anything?”

She thought of Talek. “Welcome to my nightmare,” she muttered.

He nodded. “Ain’t slept properly since. Keep seeing her,” he tapped his temple. “Right in here. Her eyes. They'll haunt me 'til I die. And there was so much blood.”

“Wasn't your fault,” the warlock said softly.

“Maybe not. But it feels like it was.”

Chukshene eyed her with an unreadable expression. “Sure you want to go in there, Nysta?”

“You killed a bunch back there, 'lock. So did I. Reckon we've learnt a thing or two from that.”

“Like what?”

She spat into the fire again and allowed the corner of her mouth to curl crookedly toward the scar. “They bleed.”

“These people you're chasing, though. They'd bleed, too?”

“I'm counting on it.”

“So, if they went in there, they're likely to be dead, right?”

“Anyone stupid enough to go into that Rule-blighted town is dead,” McCabe said in a dull tone. “Those things have got the streets.”

“You got out,” the elf said. “So they could get in. And you hid out for, what, days? So maybe they can hole up?”

“Maybe,” he allowed reluctantly. “But why'd they wanna do that? Anyone with enough sense would see there was something wrong and get the fuck outta there long before they got inside. Those things are all over that gate like the pox. You know, I told you I used to be in the cow trade?”

“What's that got to do with it?”

“Maybe something. Maybe not. A few years ago, I ran a herd outside Mistfall. One time, I got caught in a stampede. Bull took a shine to my horse. Ever tried to stop an angry bull? Good luck with that. The whole herd, you know, it's bearing down on us. Bull charged into my horse like she was nothing. We went down. I rolled out. Managed to avoid getting my leg crushed. Figured I was a goner for sure. But then the herd just split in two. Went right around me. It was the weirdest thing. Usually, they go right over you, you know? I've seen it, and it ain't pretty. Not at all. But there I was, kneeling in the dirt and hearing them thunder past. Had my hands to my head and I ain’t ashamed to say I shit my pants right there. I should've been dead, spellslinger.”

The elf shook her head at him. “This story going anywhere, or you just talking bullshit?”

“I thought I was dead,” he said, lost in his memories. “But I lived. And then I left to come here. Wanted as far from cows as I could get. Heard there was money out here trading shit if you've got the head for it. Figured I'd do alright. Didn't do too bad in the end. Was almost ready to take my stake north again. Maybe get to Doom's Reach. Buy an inn. Always thought not getting run over by a herd of cows was the luckiest moment of my life. But even though I'm standing here with fuck all but my shirt and shoes, it turns out that was nothing compared to today. This, right here, is the luckiest fucking day of my life. It's my third chance. Maybe I'll get it right this time. That's if I can get out of here with my skin still on my bones. What I'm saying, Long-ear, is someone's got to be real fucking unlucky to get in there. And real fucking lucky to get out.”

On impulse, the elf shoved her hand into her pocket and her fingers immediately found the odd contours of Talek's box. It didn't feel so cold as it had been. If anything, it felt warmer.

She frowned, thinking of the Nine holed up in some shack in the town. “I have to know if they're there,” she said, aware of Chukshene's eyes on her, an unspoken question hovering between them. She gripped the box harder, feeling the metal ribs scrape beneath her nails. “I have to.”

“Fine,” the warlock sighed. “But don't blame me when they're sucking your brains out through your eyes.”

“The Darkness will fight again,” she quoted suddenly. Pressed her fingers to her temples and picked at her memory. “I know that from somewhere. It means something.”

“I'd be real happy if you didn't say it again,” McCabe said as he rocked back and forth on his haunches. Fearful memories spread a look of anguish across his face. “Mean no offence, Long-ear. Can see you're mighty touchy, so won't say it's a demand or anything. But, really… Please? Those things kept saying it over and over. They'd crawl through the streets on their hands and fucking knees like a plague of undead roaches. Moaning it constantly until you thought it was the wind speaking through the alleys. Whatever it means, it ain't friendly.”

“'Lock?” the elf looked over at the spellslinger, who was still stuffing his face. He opened another package and looked perfectly content.

“Huh?”

“You know what it means?”

“Don't think so,” he said thoughtfully. “Sounds like something the Dark Lord might've said. When he was pissed. Grim ranted a lot of shit when he was drunk. Deathpriests recorded it all. I used to sneak into the old records and read them. You know, just for a laugh? One time, he ran through the streets of Mistfall, telling everyone that the fort at Doom Forge was a worm farm. That the mage there was collecting worms from the bodies of heroes he'd killed. I mean, really. Worms? And another time, he pulled a kraken out of its cavern, dumped it on the beach near Icespring and demanded someone make it into some kind of fucking fried noodle thing. The poor bastard with that job went mad trying. And did I mention what he said about the Emperor's daughter? It's hardly repeatable in polite company, but many a man has looked at her and wondered if it was true before wrestling his raging hard-on back into his pants in case she noticed and had one of her guards cut it off. You think you're tough, Nysta? Well. You're nothing compared to Asa. That woman's a total fucking bitch. But if you believe Grim, she might be worth knowing...”

“I had to fucking ask,” she muttered as the warlock leered into the fire. “McCabe? How many of them are there?”

He gave a startled twitch at his name. “How many? Fuck. How should I know? Dozen? Twenty. Fucking hundred and twenty. I don't know. They all look the same. All sound the same. All creep around like fucking roaches, crawling all over everything and shit. Spikewrist's now a fucking meatshop for them. An evil place. All I know is, no matter where you go, there they are.”

“Sounds more like a holy shrine than a butcher's lair,” the elf said with a sardonic grin.

“You've got a strange mind, even for an elf,” he said quietly.

“Thinks she's funny is all,” the warlock offered.

“She don't sound funny,” McCabe’s squinted gaze drifted over the jutting handles pressing against her body. “Don't look very fucking funny, neither. I don't see much to laugh at, Long-ear. That's my home back there. Some good friends of mine just got fucking eaten by fuck knows what. Be obliged if you didn't make a joke of it. They was good people, mostly.”

“You might be right,” the elf said, spitting out through the corner of her mouth. “Might be a diabolic time to be playing games. You see the bastard in charge again? After he went in?”

“Not so much. He passed through the street like a ghost sometimes, but I never really saw him straight up. When I did, thse things were following him like he was a god and he hardly seemed to notice they were there. Reminded me of cows following a bull, you know?”

“I look like someone who knows about cows?”

“Won't tell you what I think you look like.”

“Wise choice,” Chukshene said.

“I’m scared out of my head, but I ain't stupid. You know, I can't stop thinking about his eyes when he was at the gate. There was something about them. Something old. And alien. I don't know. Like he knew too much about the world. If I ever saw him again, I'd run so fast you wouldn't see me for dust. But his eyes. They'd follow me, I know. I won't ever stop dreaming about them now. It's like he knew what I was thinking. But there was something else. Something I can't put into words,” McCabe’s face was taut and even the sweat glistening on his cheeks looked frozen in rising horror. “Stay away from that town, Long-ear. Turn around. These fellers of yours? They ain't worth what you'll find in there. I don't like you, Long-ear. Ain't ever gonna like you no matter what excuses your spellslinger makes for you being a cold-hearted bitch. But I wouldn't wish what'll happen to you if you go in there on anybody. Whatever he is, demon or not, that evil son of a bitch don't need no prodding. Leave him be. He's one bull who won't let his herd go around you. They'll roll right over you. Eat you alive.”

The warlock looked impressed. “Well, I'm fucked if I've ever heard anything like it. And I've heard a lot. If I hadn't seen them with my own eyes, I'd say you were full of shit. Or been drinking too much. Long-ear?”

She nodded in agreement. “Figure McCabe’s an expert on herds. Reckon that means he'd know a few things about canny bulls.”