Vampire Warlords: The Clockwork Vampire Chronicles, Book 3

by Andy Remic

  Kell dropped her on the frozen forest floor.

  "I'm sorry, lass." Kell shook his head sadly. "He's gone. He's dead."

  There came a surge from the lake, and Saark appeared gasping and spluttering, kicking and struggling. "I'm not fucking gone!" he screamed. "Help me out! Now! This shit! It tastes like shit!"

  Kell sprinted back to the slope, and lying full length reached out with Ilanna. Saark grabbed the blades, careful not to sever his own fingers, and Kell hauled him onto the sloped bank where he rolled, coughing and choking. Saark was covered in what appeared a thick, oily, black green sludge, and he coughed up some huge chunks which sat, quivering on the frozen mud.

  "Fucking horrible! It was fucking disgusting!" He struggled, fighting with his wet clothes until he stood, naked and shivering on the icy bank. He looked at everyone. "What? What? Come on, get me some fresh clothes, will you? Out of Mary's basket."

  Myriam found fresh clothes, and Kell grabbed handfuls of snow, scrubbing Saark's violently shivering body free of the lake's sludge. When he came to Saark's groin, he handed him a snowball. "Here you go, lad. A man's cock is his own business."

  "Myriam," said Kell. "Build a fire. I'll find some water, we need to get the lad cleaned off. And Nienna, can you get some firewood? Good girl." He turned back to Saark, struggling into thick woollens, his fingers almost blue. "What the hell were you doing, lad, putting that damn donkey before yourself?"

  "I couldn't leave her!" snapped Saark.

  "Well, I hope she was worth it," said Kell with a scowl.

  "She is. She is."

  "We'll see if you still think that when your flesh is peeling off your bones."

  "I'd forgotten that," shivered Saark miserably, and stared forlornly at his boots. They were leaking black dye onto the snow. "The whoresons! Those boots cost a pretty penny."

  "I think you've got bigger problems than that," snapped Kell.

  Soon they had a reasonably large fire burning, despite Kell muttering about visibility and smoke and announcing their location to every damn soldier, brigand, Blacklipper and cut-throat for a two league circle. Kell found a frozen pool, and cracking it with his axe, bid Saark undress once more and jump into the icechilled water.

  "But why?" he whined, kicking off his trews.

  "Get that shit off your skin. And out of your hair. Don't want to go bald, do you?"

  Saark looked at Kell in absolute horror, and undressed with acceleration. However, it took a prod from Ilanna to get a squawking, flapping, very unhappy Saark into the frozen pool and he went under, and spluttered up, and scowled and cursed, swore and chattered. He scrubbed at his hair, muttering obscenities to Kell, to Mary and to the world in general. Then Kell hauled him out, wrapped him in a blanket and supported the shivering man to the fire, laying his clothes next to him.

  "It's like having a baby again," muttered Kell.

  "Well, if you hadn't dragged us across that bloody lake in the first place, I wouldn't be sat here with balls the size of acorns."

  "So, nothing's changed, eh lad?" grinned Kell.

  Saark was shivering too much to reply.

  Myriam and Nienna got a large pan of broth cooking, and Kell disappeared into the Iron Forest searching for bad people to dismember. He returned after an hour, shaking his head, to find Saark slurping his third bowl of soup and in much better humour.

  "See?" beamed Saark. "Nothing wrong with me! Nothing at all! I think all these stories about toxic lakes that eat men whole are nothing but horse-shit ghost stories spewed by cranky old woodsmen around their inbred fires." He gave a meaningful glance at Myriam, and then sat back, opening his blanket a little to allow more warmth in.

  "By all the gods lad, put it away!" boomed Kell. "We don't want to be looking at that whilst we eat our soup!"

  "What's the matter, never seen such an example of prime steak before?"

  "I've never seen such a little tiddler!" roared Kell, good humour suddenly returned. "You make the sausages at the butchers seem quite majestic! Now put your clothes on, we've wasted enough time messing around here. We should get moving."

  "I have barely recovered from my near death incident," whined Saark, pulling his blankets tighter with a scowl. "The least you could do is have some compassion!"

  "I'll have some compassion when you're dead. Get your trews on, I found soldiers out in the forest. Lots of soldiers. Enough soldiers to, for example, give us a real bad day."

  Myriam stamped out the fire, and they were ready to move in a few minutes, Saark complaining about his wet boots and how he was chilled to the bone.

  Snow started to fall heavy, and clung to the angular branches of trees like a white parasite. They trudged through the silent forest, leaving a narrow trail and cutting randomly between the trees in case the soldiers had seen their fire, and came to investigate.

  The sky was streaked with ice.

  And through this frozen forest world, they moved.

  They came upon a deserted farmhouse, a leaning, ramshackle affair with no obvious trails leading to it, or from it. It must have been deserted for years, and the woodland had slowly reclaimed the land, the road and the stables. It still maintained a roof, and that was something, for the snow was coming down thick. Kell was thankful for this; as he pointed out, it would cover their tracks.

  Kell allowed them a fire, for without fire, he said, they may die; and to hell with the soldiers.

  "If they do come," he grunted, "I'll teach them something new about cold. The cold of an early grave."

  With a fire burning in the old kitchen fireplace, and the sky dark outside, the enclosing forest blocked out ambient light and gradually piled high with the fresh fall.

  Myriam disappeared into the woods, returning with wild mushrooms and berries from which she made a stew, and Saark busied himself in the stables making sure Mary the donkey had a thick blanket over her back, and was not subjected to too many draughts.

  Saark patted her muzzle. "I'd have you in the house with us, but you know what Kell's like. Grumpy old bastard. Soon as eat you as look at you."

  "Talking to your donkey again?" said Myriam, almost in his ear, and he jumped.

  "By the Chaos Halls, you move quiet, Myriam."

  "Just one of my many talents."

  She moved in front of him, and draped her hands over his shoulders. She leant forward and they kissed, and despite the cold and the snow, despite the darkness and the distant nagging fear of their mission, of the vampires, of the state of Falanor, here and now they were enclosed in a shield of warmth and desire.

  "You coming to my bed tonight?" she whispered, husky, pulling away but not letting go. She was in control now, she was the dominant one, her confidence returned tenfold, her eyes bright and eager. Saark enjoyed this. Enjoyed the reversal. It was stimulating.

  "Yes," said Saark, seeing no need at coyness. His hands moved down her back, onto her buttocks, and he pulled her to him so their hips touched. He was hard against her, and he grinned because he knew that she knew; and she knew he knew she knew. They kissed again. "I'm going to treat you so fine, Myriam," he said.

  "I know," she smiled.

  "Where's that firewood?" came Kell's coarse shout.

  "Coming, Legend," grinned Myriam, and filled her arms with chunks from beside the leaning, rickety stables. "And then we'll have some poetry! We'll have some hero-song!"

  "Not from me you won't," growled Kell, and slammed the door.

  The fire had burned low. They had arranged blankets before the flames, Nienna close beside Kell – presumably so the old goat can keep an eye on me and her, mused Saark. But as embers glittered, so too did Myriam's eyes and she rose, taking her blankets with her, and moved to the nearest bedroom. Saark followed, and stepping into the small room, he closed the door.

  Myriam moved and opened the shutters. The snow had stopped, and eerie moonlight filtered in at an angle, highlighting her face, her high cheekbones, her smooth, pale skin. Her hair caught the moonlight, and shone like li
quid silver shot through with strands of ebony. Slowly, she trailed to the bed and laid out her blankets. In silence, Saark did the same, and then they stood there for a while, staring at one another, like virgins on a first date, simply watching, not rushing, as if not quite sure what to do. Saark moved first, fired by lust and kneeling on the bed, and Myriam came from the opposite side to meet him. He touched her shoulders, and ran his hands down her arms, then leant in close and kissed her neck, and breathed in that musky scent. She groaned, a low, low animal sound from the pit of her stomach, and in that groan Saark sensed years of frustration, of longing, of need, and he caught sight of his own fingers in the moonlight and was shocked to see them shaking. What's this? Saark, the greatest of lovers, the most incredible seducer in the whole of Falanor, shaking like a child at his first sniff of an eager quim? He smiled, and enjoyed the sensation, and his hands took Myriam's head and his fingers ran through her hair. It was luscious, a pelt, and he kissed her and their tongues mated, and as they kissed they undressed one another, one item of clothing at a time, their hands that little bit too eager, a little bit too quick with excitement and the promise of what was to come. Saark touched Myriam's naked shoulder, as her hand slipped between his legs and took hold of his throbbing, eager cock. "A better performance than this morning," she purred, and bit his ear. He gave a little jump and grinned, face outlined by moonlight.

  "You'd better believe it," he said, and his tongue left a slick trail down her jaw, then down her throat, and he took her left breast in his mouth, pulling slowly at the nipple between his teeth and holding it there as he felt himself pulsing in her hands and his own hand dropped between her legs. She was warm there, and wet, so wet, and Saark breathed in her scent and tickled her, slowly, teasing her with two fingers and her back arched and she reclined back on the bed, and Saark lowered his mouth to her cunt, and he played with her and she moaned, and his tongue teased and he nibbled and inside that dark sweet hole he could feel it, feel the rhythm of ticking clockwork and Myriam was groaning, writhing, and she could take no more and she pulled at him, her fingers eager and grasping, her nails leaving long red grooves down Saark's ribs and hips and he straddled her. Saark looked down. Myriam's face was bathed in moonlight, but more, she was lost, lost in an ecstasy and lost in the moment. She was so beautiful it that writhing, spellbound zone, and it was timeless, and endless, and she took his cock with both hands, pulling him urgently, guiding him into her and he fell, fell down a huge well of honey and spiralling scents, fell into a world of crazy colours which absorbed him, cushioned him, exploded him, and they fucked on the blankets in the moonlight, and it was slow, and beautiful, and sensuous, and Myriam clawed his back and Saark bit her neck, drawing a little blood with his vachine fangs but this made Myriam more wild, and she bucked, writhed, with him entrapped, unable to let go. It was magick, but a magick deeper than anything cast by the so-called magickers in their long silver robes back in Vor. This was a magick of Nature, a magick of the beast, and it was completely natural, a need, a lust, and they came together in a vortex of pleasure and fell down a long black well to the infinite realms of contented sleep.

  It was morning. Early morning. A cool wind drifted in through shutters. Somewhere, a bird gave a splutter of song and Saark opened his eyes, looking up into Myriam's face. She rested her head on one hand, raised on her elbow, and she was staring down at him. She smiled, and he saw her vampire fangs, complete with traces of blood. His blood. But he did not mind. In fact, it excited him rather a lot and she noticed this with a purr of appreciation. "Again," she said, a growl, a simple command, and Saark gave a nod, and within seconds they were fucking only this time this time it was different and Myriam was more wild, far more feral and something had changed something had gone and they kissed and he thrust into her, thrust deep into her so hard he thought he would tear himself apart and they worked together, in perfect rhythm, and sweat was dripping from her face into his and as he rose frantically to an uncontrolled and uncontrollable orgasm so the clockwork went click and the brass wires and gold wires threaded from inside Myriam, and the clockwork seemed to know Saark was blood-oil infected, and they were needed, and the machines came through Myriam, through her womb and into Saark and he felt a scream well as he came, and in the moment of greatest pleasure, his moment of greatest vulnerability so the clockwork burned through him, entered him, and he writhed around and would have yelled and screamed but Myriam's hand clamped over his mouth and her incredibly strong body pinned him, rigid, locked down to the bed as the clockwork inside her split and multiplied and her eyes glistened and she understood.

  Myriam stood, and watched Saark writhing on the bed, his eyes rolled back and white, froth at his lips.

  Kell burst in, Ilanna in his great fist, eyes roving. "What's happened? Shit, Saark? Saark?" and he rushed to the bed and Myriam stood back. Saark thrashed, in agony, his body rolling and bucking and a smile was on her lips. Slowly, she dressed.

  Kell turned on her. "What did you do to him?"

  "I saved his life," she said.

  "He doesn't look very well to me!"

  "Listen. He was bit. By Shanna. You know how it works, Kell; I know you do. If he didn't get the clockwork, eventually the blood-oil would poison him; like the Blacklippers, but worse, for with them it's not in their bloodstream, only in their flesh. Here, he would have been dead within a week, no matter how strong he said he felt."

  "Clockwork? But, how? How did you… " Kell's voice trailed off.

  "Use your imagination, old man," said Myriam, and pushed past him, but he grabbed her upper arm. She struggled for a moment, but even despite her vachine strength, Kell was stronger. His grip was an iron shackle, his thunderous face doom.

  "If you have hurt him…"

  "Yes, I know, you'll plant that huge fucking axe in my skull. But just remember your complete lack of trust in a couple of hours when he comes round, and feels better than ever. Just you wait, Kell! I look forward to your apology. I look forward to that stupid pig look on your stupid flat face!" She shook off his hand and stalked from the farmhouse, looking for somewhere to wash. Her anger was tangible. Like blood mist.

  "I don't understand," said Nienna, as Kell pulled blankets over Saark's naked body. "She said she gave him… clockwork? So that means now he's a full vachine? How did she do it?"

  "I'll explain later," muttered Kell, and checked Saark's pulse. He had settled down, was still, although his eyes were still rolled back in his skull. His breathing was regular. Kell placed his hand on Saark's chest. Within, he could feel a heartbeat, but also a steady ticking; like a clock.

  "Is he well?"

  "Shit," muttered Kell and left the room.

  Nienna moved to the edge of the bed, and sat beside Saark. She stared down at his face, and her hand moved, tracing down his beautiful features and coming to rest on his naked chest. She gave a shiver. And then she realised, both he and Myriam had been in here together. Naked. Now everything clicked into place. Now everything fit together.

  Nienna's face changed, and the vision that swam across her young, pretty features turned her ugly for just a moment.

  Composing herself, and biting her lip, and pushing away images of violence, Nienna stood and left the bedroom.

  Myriam sat by a bubbling stream. Ice froze the edges, but it flowed down the centre, pure and fresh and icecold. Small blue flowers grew along one bank, where the snow had been held at bay by a line of dark green pine. Her gaze followed the trees up, up to distant heights; she reckoned them to be a couple of hundred years old. Magnificent. Kings of the forest.

  She sighed, and dipped her hand in the stream, thinking back to the night, and their love-making, and the absolute total pleasure. Then her eyes grew bright, and she thought now of the clockwork, and Saark's acceptance of the clockwork – for she knew, if it did not work his death would have been instant. He would have died inside her. But that had not happened, and Saark was, now, for the very first time, true vachine.

  "'A cr
eature of blood-oil and clockwork,'" she quoted. "'A child of the Oak Testament.'" She had spent precious little time with Shanna, and Tashmaniok, the Soul Stealers who had turned her into vachine – and so robbed the parasitic cancer which riddled her of another dark victory. But during that short time, she had learned from them.

  And the rest – well, Myriam smiled. The rest was instinct.

  A hand touched her shoulder. She had not heard him approach, and she turned, and smiled up at him, and winter sunlight highlighted her hair and her smile.

  "Myriam," said Saark, and crouched down. Now, his skin was more radiant. Now, he was at the peak of physical strength; of fitness; of clockwork enhanced life.

  "You feel well?"

  "Incredible," he said. And inside Saark, something went tick tick tick. His eyes glowed. He reached down and kissed Myriam, and they stayed there for a while, kissing, holding hands, listening to the burbling of the stream.