Corpse Cold (Immortal Treachery Book 3)

by Allan Batchelder

  Rem shook his head. “That’s madness, suicide.”

  Kittins leaned his head to one side as if he didn’t agree. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  Both men rode in silence for several minutes, and then Rem said, “I imagine Her Majesty has thought all of this through.”

  “You imagine,” Kittins scoffed.

  “Then what’s the purpose of your going north?”

  “Keeping me away from her Shaper. Didn’t work too well, did it?”

  Rem reached over and grasped the reins of Kittins’ horse, pulling the beast to a halt. “So why are you still going north? Surely, you don’t want to run into this other Reaper.”

  The captain yanked his reins out of Rem’s grip. “Why not? What else’ve I got to do?”

  “I thought you wanted revenge on Her Majesty.”

  Kittins smiled his death’s head smile. “Exactly.” The captain then kicked his horse back into motion and opened a good lead on his companion.

  The actor faced a moment of indecision: should he continue in Kittins’ company and possibly get embroiled in a battle not his own, or should he attempt to find and rejoin Long Pete and the rest of his friends? I’m probably safer in Kittins’ company, he thought, especially if Cindor returns. Resigned, he too spurred his horse onward, hoping to close the gap between himself and the captain.

  Late afternoon, they crossed a stretch of Svarren tracks that seemed to run forever. Rem wanted to talk about it, but he could see Kittins wasn’t similarly inclined. But what would they do if they ran into a large group of the creatures? Or thousands? Despite his apparent self-confidence, Kittins was no Tarmun Vykers. He and the actor stood no chance against anything more than a handful of Svarren. At least, that’s the way Rem saw it. Should he counsel caution? I’d have more luck urging a stone to sing sea shanties.

  Kittins held up a hand and gestured for Rem to stop moving and be quiet. Carefully, the big man slid down from his horse and walked to the fringe of the Svarren trail. Aware that the actor was still watching him, he pointed to something dark in the snow and quickly made his way back to the horses.

  “What?” Rem whispered.

  “Shit,” Kittins answered. “And it’s still steaming. Let’s ride back the opposite way a while and then cut north.”

  So, the captain was not as foolhardy as he seemed.

  *****

  The Circus Family Barr, the Forest

  The Circus Family Barr was dragged back to consciousness, battered and bleeding, by the bizarre sound of groaning, creaking trees. Mads sat up first and realized that a sizeable chunk had been blown from the trunk of a massive fir by the wagon’s explosion. By the time the last Barr had reached a sitting position, it became evident the huge tree was falling on the performers.

  “Aaaaaagh!” Keenan screamed.

  *****

  The Giants & Company, Zillia’s Cave

  It was a long but mercifully uneventful trek to Zillia’s cave, which was located far to the east and somewhat south of Beesmarch’s tree.

  “Wouldn’t mind if she was even further away,” the biggest giant remarked.

  Eoman didn’t understand the bad blood between his friends, but he let it be. He had other, more pressing concerns. “I hope she’s in,” he said, looking at the mouth of Zillia’s cave.

  “Where else would she be, foul creature that she is?”

  “Oh,” Eoman laughed, “she’s not so bad, Bees. I rather like her.”

  “We all know that!” Beesmarch responded. “What no one can figure is why!”

  Karrakan glanced down at his two charges, Nelby and Esmine. “Don’t you worry, girls. You’ll like her plenty!”

  The cave stood in the side of a massive hillside, with an entrance more than large enough to accommodate Eoman’s entire party. Huge trees flanked the opening, and a fresh mantle of snow covered the hill from cave to crest. There were no footprints of any kind to be found in the area, which Eoman took to be a good sign that Zillia was still alive and at work. Otherwise, something less fastidious would have moved into the cave, leaving tracks and spoor everywhere.

  “No sign of Svarren,” said Karrakan. “That’s a good sign.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” Eoman said.

  It was getting on towards evening, and the giants had been hoping to spend the night in Zillia’s cave. If things went poorly, however, Eoman feared they might not have enough time to set up a decent camp before nightfall. No point in puttin’ this off, the king thought.

  With as much swagger as he could muster, he walked to the very mouth of the cave and called out, “It’s Eoman, King of the Giants, who seeks entrance!”

  An outburst of croaking came from within the cave.

  “That’s the old witch laughing at us!” Beesmarch insisted. “I warned you she’d respond this way.”

  A shape appeared in the gloom before Eoman could frame a response to Beesmarch’s comment. In the next instant, the shape resolved into that of a female giant, dressed in rags, cobwebs and taffeta. Zillia was the last member of an offshoot branch of giantkind, almost as wide as she was tall, and a head shorter than Karrakan for all that. She looked a thing of dreams, not reality, but her smile was genuine enough.

  “How long, how long has it been, my king?”

  Eoman nearly choked up at her obeisance. “Too long,” he admitted. “Far too long for a king to be gone from such a kind and loyal subject.”

  “Humph!” sniffed Beesmarch. “Pandering and sycophants!”

  “Those are some big words, old friend.”

  “I read!” Beesmarch exclaimed. “You should try it.”

  Eoman laughed. “Too busy making the rounds.”

  By now, Zillia had caught sight of both Nelby and Esmine.

  “And who’s this, then?” she crooned merrily.

  “Don’t s’pose you ever met Mardine, did you?” Eoman asked by way of reply. “Big girl, red hair?”

  “Mmmm…” Zillia said, as she scratched her chin. “Red hair’s familiar.”

  “Well, the shorter one here’s her daughter. And the human’s her nanny.”

  Before anyone could warn her, Zillia asked, “And where’s Mardine, then?” The spontaneous agony on the girls’ faces was all the answer Zillia needed. “Ooh,” she said softly, “I see.”

  “It’s gettin’ dark out here!” Beesmarch reminded everyone.

  “Ah, yes. Come in, come in!” Zillia said.

  If Beesmarch’s tree was a revelation, Zillia’s cave was no less astonishing. But a few strides inside, great veins of crystal glowed with light of different colors and intensities.

  “Lovely!” Karrakan exclaimed.

  “Humph!” said Beesmarch.

  “I’d have bet my beard that’d be your reaction,” Eoman chuckled.

  “Keep yer beard. Yer ugly enough as ‘tis.”

  The king would have laughed harder and longer, but he knew when to leave his old friend be. Instead, he merely rolled his eyes theatrically, to Zillia’s delight.

  Despite Beesmarch’s persistent disapproval, the two girls shared Karrakan’s enthusiasm for the crystals, and Esmine, in particular, was completely agog. As the group progressed farther inside, the air became warmer and an ethereal music seemed to emanate from the very walls and ceiling.

  “Where is that coming from?” Karrakan wondered.

  “Everywhere!” Zillia smiled. “But if you don’t like it, I can stop it.”

  “Oh, I like it, I like it.”

  Beesmarch, of course, said, “I hate it.”

  “No you don’t, you big liar!” Zillia teased.

  “I think she’s got the right of it, Bees,” Eoman joined in jovially. “After all, it’s not so much different from your wind chimes and mobiles.” After a pause, he added, “And don’t say ‘humph!”

  Robbed of his favorite retort, Beesmarch could only chew his mustache and glower.

  Zillia led them on, past a tunnel from which water could be heard burbling and gur
gling. “Those are the baths,” she said before hurrying on.

  “Baths?” Eoman asked. “Hot or cold?”

  “Both, truly! But there’s time for that later.”

  The king sighed, “I’d love a hot bath.”

  “And I’d love for you to take one!” Beesmarch quipped.

  The group passed into another, larger chamber, with a low table in the center. “Hungry?” Zillia inquired, her musical voice adding a note of welcome that her guests hadn’t heard anywhere else in ages.

  “Need you ask?”

  “How can we fit ‘round such a short table?” Beesmarch complained.

  “We sit on cushions on the floor!” Zillia chirped.

  “Witches…” the tallest giant muttered.

  In no time, everyone had shoved in around the table. Even the two girls were comfortable enough to find themselves a spot between Zillia and Karrakan.

  “Uh,” Eoman said, “did you forget something?” he asked of his hostess.

  “Have I?”

  “Food!” said Beesmarch.

  Zillia’s eyes fairly twinkled with anticipation as she produced a small whistle from a string about her neck and blew upon it. An incredibly high-pitched but still audible whine sounded, and then the giantess let the whistle fall back into the folds of fabric at her throat.

  Shortly, a small procession of wolverines entered the large chamber, walking on their hind legs, laden with platters of cheese, mushrooms, bread, jams, butter, dried fruit, and more. There was no meat – Zillia wouldn’t eat or serve it – but there was plenty of every-and-anything else a person might wish to eat.

  “Ale?” Beesmarch asked rather rudely.

  “Wine,” Zillia countered, seemingly oblivious of the fellow’s temper. “Wine made of cranberries, blueberries, blackberries, thimbleberries and more.”

  Beesmarch clucked his tongue irritably. “I’d rather drink piss.”

  “That can be arranged,” Zillia said, without surrendering an ounce of her good humor.

  Karrakan was most interested in the wolverines. “Those animals…” he began.

  “Friends,” Zillia replied. “Family. I do for them, they do for me.”

  “They don’t look like normal wolverines,” Eoman opined.

  “They’re not. Your average wolverines are, well, common. These are their brighter, better cousins.”

  “Thank you, milady,” one of the beasts croaked, causing Beesmarch to choke on his wine.

  “They talk?” he gasped.

  Zillia favored her guest with the biggest, most self-satisfied smile she could manage, but said nothing.

  Karrakan, ever the peacemaker amongst his kin, said “I am amazed, Zillia.”

  From the looks on their faces, it was evident that the girls were equally amazed. Nelby and Esmine looked enthralled by the wolverines, the meal, the glowing crystals, even their hostess.

  It is well, thought Eoman. “To the matter at hand,” he said.

  At this pronouncement, everyone fell silent, waiting to hear what the king had to say.

  “Old friend,” he said to his hostess, “I would beg a boon of you.”

  “The girls?”

  “Your intuition remains as strong as ever!” Eoman said.

  Zillia chortled at this and answered, “Not intuition, my king: common sense. But I’m curious as to why you’d leave them with me.”

  “They’d not be safe where Beesmarch, Karrakan and I must go.”

  “Svarren?”

  “More common sense?”

  “Intuition!” Zillia chortled again. “But, in truth, we’ve been overrun by them of late. It’s high time someone investigated.”

  “We mean to do more than investigate,” Beesmarch spat.

  “What? Just you three? Why not take the brothers?”

  Eoman was surprised. “The brothers? Last I heard, they were on the eastern coast.”

  “Ha!” Zillia laughed. “That was some time ago. They’re north of me, now. Hunting, so they say.”

  Karrakan shot a meaningful glance at his king. “Hunting? Might be we share the same purpose.”

  Eoman nodded in agreement. The food and wine had gotten to him, and now he fancied a good night’s sleep. But first he wanted that hot bath he’d heard tell of.

  “Munch!” Zillia called to one of her wolverines. “Show our guests to the baths.”

  *****

  The Circus Family Barr, the Forest

  The Circus Family Barr did not recover from their latest disaster so quickly. While none of its members had been crushed by the tree itself, all were struck and pinned by its various branches. The smallest was able to wiggle his way free, but he didn’t possess the strength to free his siblings.

  “I’m startin’ ta think the gods hate clowns!” the tallest griped from beneath his branch.

  “Everyone’s a critic!” Mads responded. “Why should they be any different?”

  “I think…” said Keenan, “I think I’m startin’ to freeze to death.”

  “Well,” the tallest brother sighed, “we’ve cheated death – what, now – three times in a row this day?”

  “I s’pose there’s worse ways to go than freezin’,” the youngest brother offered.

  The sudden and undeniable sound of a wolf’s growl seemed to underscore the point.

  *****

  Long & Company, On the Road

  It was again snowing hard. If he ever got through this ordeal in one piece, Long vowed he’d move someplace where snow never fell, someplace sunny and warm all the time. He pictured himself with Esmine and lost himself in that daydream until, invariably, Mardine showed up, and he remembered he’d lost her for good. That part of the dream could never come true. And the reason for it would haunt Long forever.

  It was snowing, yes, but the forest was thinning. It would be nice to get out of the trees for a while, whether it kept snowing or not. Hopefully, he and his mates could find a good place to shelter for the evening. Pine and fir trees could be added to the list of things of which he’d had his fill.

  Once free of the forest, Long and his companions could see the outlines of a village in the distance. It was more than they’d hoped for, and they set off at a jog, so eager were they to reach it. Even Yendor, hopping along on his broken or mending or not-broken leg made good speed.

  When they got within a hundred strides or so, Long held up a hand and pulled everyone to a stop.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said.

  “Yeah,” said Spirk. “It’s empty. Everyone’s gone.”

  “Is that all?” Yendor demanded. “I was afraid there’d be magic or Svarren or some such.”

  Long lowered his hand. “Let’s go.”

  The village was indeed deserted, and its most valuable items had been taken away by the villagers. Still, there was firewood, a few serviceable blankets, some crocks of preserved fruits and vegetables – not especially tasty under normal circumstance, but delicious to the captain and his friends.

  As night fell, they holed up in a small cottage that Long felt had the most defensible position in town, but also the largest fireplace-to-room size relationship. It would be easy to heat and keep warm throughout the night. Fortuitously, the home’s mattresses had been left behind, so Spirk and Ron dragged them near the fire. They were little more than great bags of straw, but to Long and company, they were the most comfortable bedding imaginable.

  “Let’s have one of those pots o’ magic drink!” Yendor exclaimed, when everyone had finished eating.

  “Let’s not,” Long answered.

  “Now, Long,” Yendor said, “I’ve put up with my share o’ shit on this journey. I ain’t asked for much, and,” he added pointedly, “I been a loyal friend. I don’t see how us havin’ a little nip hurts you any.”

  The captain thought about this for several breaths. He didn’t like it, but arguing against it would require more energy than he had and only serve to aggravate emotional wounds that were just beginning to heal. “Fine,
” he said. “You do as you list.”

  Long lay on his side, watching the fire and listening to his comrades get rip-roaring drunk. He abstained, though he knew it made him look rather a poor sport. But someone had to remain sober in case of emergency. Sober and alert, alas, were not one and the same thing, and it wasn’t long before the captain drifted off to sleep.

  His dreams were comforting, at first. There was the apple orchard. The trees were in bloom and yet somehow held apples, which Long picked whilst Esmine chased butterflies nearby. Mardine loomed just out of sight, making a pie. Outside? Sure. Why not. Slowly, though, these images of domestic bliss gave way to other, stranger visions. There was the giant thing Long and Spirk had killed in the forest. A god? There, too, was the huge face in the wall of the underground ruins. Who was she? Another god? Long felt he should recognize her. Her Majesty, the Virgin Queen, came into view then, and she looked angry. But angry at whom? Surely not Long. She’d rewarded him once for…something.

  In the waking world, Yendor got up to piss and disturbed Long’s sleep. Instead of apologizing, he said, “I wake you? Guess I wanted some company, then.”

  Long rolled onto his knees and stood. They’d found a ewer of water earlier that they’d all deemed safe to drink, and now the captain wanted some. “You don’t look like a man who broke an arm, a leg and some ribs,” he told Yendor.

  Yendor giggled. Giggled! “It’s this drink,” he said. “It’s got some strange healin’ properties.”

  “Don’t tell me your eye’s grown back.”

  “No,” Yendor confessed, “but…”

  “But?”

  Yendor hesitated. Even in his inebriated state, he didn’t want to seem a fool.

  “But?” Long asked again with greater emphasis.

  “It ain’t grown back, but I can see things with it all the same.”

  The captain crossed over to his friend, walked him back into the firelight, so he could read his expressions. “What do you mean, you can see things?”

  Yendor lowered his head, ran a hand through his thinning hair and rubbed his scalp. “I can see in the dark.”

  It was a ridiculous claim, but Long had lived through so many unthinkable events, he half believed his friend. “You can see in the dark,” he repeated.