Corpse Cold (Immortal Treachery Book 3)

by Allan Batchelder

  “Vhat?”

  The Reaper rubbed his eyes. “They’ve run away, you say? That don’t make sense. Did somebody say the kid’s a Shaper? I wanna talk to ‘im.”

  Hjuest did an abbreviated bow and went off to fetch Spirk.

  In the meantime, Vykers stood up, stretched, and checked that his sword and the dagger were still where he’d stashed them. Next, he cast about for something to drink and found a wineskin full of fresh water. No sooner had he drained it than Hjuest reappeared with Spirk in tow.

  The Reaper stared at the young man as if he were an unexpected rash on the skin. “I hear you’re a Shaper,” he said with an obvious note of contempt.

  “Well,” Spirk sputtered, “I know a few things. Sorta. Sometimes.”

  Vykers was unconvinced. “You an idiot, boy?”

  “I guess so, yeah.”

  “I never heard of an idiot Shaper before.”

  “Me, neither,” Spirk said, helpfully.

  The Reaper was flummoxed, but he had no time to wallow in confusion. “Look,” said he, “can you spy on those Svarren with your thoughts like other Shapers do?”

  “Sure!” Spirk answered, clearly star-struck to be conversing with the legendary Reaper.

  “Well, do it!” Vykers barked, losing patience.

  Spirk stepped away from the Reaper a couple of feet and closed his eyes. “Whadda ya wanna know?” he asked.

  “What’s going on! Why they’re running away!”

  “There’s some nasty feller flyin’ after ‘em, scarin’ ‘em. He reminds me o’ the End.”

  “Does he look like the End?”

  Spirk made a face. “Not on the outside.”

  “But on the inside?”

  “That’s him.”

  Vykers sneered, clenched his fists. “What’s he doin’?”

  “Just sorta flyin’ over them Svarren…wait! Wait, they’re not movin’ anymore.”

  The Reaper exchanged glances with Hjuest and then turned back to Spirk. “They’ve stopped?”

  “More ‘n stopped,” Spirk replied. “They can’t move. They’re stuck or somethin’.”

  “Did the End do this to ‘em?”

  Spirk screwed up his face even more and said nothing for several seconds. Then, “Uh-huh. Looks like he froze ‘em kinda.”

  Vykers looked over at Hjuest and nodded conspiratorially. “So,” he said, “the End’s troops are abandoning him.”

  “It looks zat vay, ya.”

  “Round everyone up,” the Reaper commanded. “We’re going to war.”

  *****

  Long Pete, In Vykers’ Camp

  Long Pete had been through a lot, too much in truth. He was elated to be reunited with his wife and doubly so to learn that his daughter was still alive. But he was also bone-tired, and the last thing he wanted to do was get ready for battle, even if the End-of-All-Things had returned. No, Long wanted nothing more than to take his wife, fetch their daughter, and retire to his apple orchard.

  But the Reaper took for granted that everyone in his company was willing to do his bidding, and the Reaper was a hard man to defy. Or, more accurately, simply the wrong man to defy.

  And the odds did seem to be in the Reaper’s favor this time, if the Svarren truly had deserted. There were the seven giants, a handful of battle-tested warriors, and Long’s crew, which included the unpredictable magics of one Spirk Nessno. Long had also heard tell of a powerful A’Shea lurking about somewhere, and there was even a rumor that the Queen herself might show up at any moment. Long wasn’t sure what the old woman could add to the fight, but she must have had Shapers at her disposal.

  For all that, Long wanted to grab Mardine and sneak away whilst everyone else was preoccupied. It would mean leaving his friends Yendor, Spirk and Ron, but, dammit, hadn’t Long sacrificed enough? Wasn’t he entitled to a little peace and happiness before he found his grave?

  Like everyone else, he checked his weapons.

  *****

  Kittins, In Vykers’ Camp

  It hadn’t escaped Kittins’ attention that Long Pete had arrived. The big man hadn’t seen much of Rem since then, either. It figured. Kittins had always been the odd man out in Long’s little army; why should this time be any different? He was not a man for tales of youthful whoring and drinking songs; he was not the ‘hail-fellow-well-met’ type. Truth be told, he probably had more in common with the Reaper. There was a man he might exchange stories with…or sword blows. He had to admit the idea appealed to him. If the Reaper finished him, well, it was nobody’s loss; if he somehow managed to kill the Reaper, though…

  Kittins sharpened his blade and checked his daggers. He inspected his armor and tightened his straps.

  Whatever happened in the next few hours, there’d be a shitload of death.

  And Kittins was looking forward to it.

  *****

  Aoife & Vykers, In Camp

  Aoife was gathering pinecones when Vykers found her in a thicket. She looked up immediately when he stepped into view, her face an unreadable mask.

  “Don’t tell me you’re gonna throw those at the End.”

  Aoife ignored him.

  “Look,” Vykers said, “I’d rather you stayed here.”

  “You’d rather?” Aoife snapped. “And why should I care what you’d rather?”

  Suddenly, Vykers remembered why he’d spent so much of his life alone. “Suit yourself,” he said, turning to leave.

  “I have more of a stake in this fight than you!” Aoife scolded at his back.

  Vykers stopped, turned back to the Umaena. “I got no stake at all, ‘cept I feel like finishin’ what I started last time. But what’s the bastard to you?”

  Aoife bit back whatever it was she’d been planning to say and then muttered, “You don’t know the first thing about me, Tarmun Vykers.”

  “What are you angry at me for? I ain’t seen you in months!”

  Aoife’s expression reflected her mounting fury. “That’s the second time you’ve said that today, and you and I both know it’s a lie.”

  “What are you on about?”

  “Do you deny coming to my cabin, apologizing for your past behavior, and sharing my bed with me?”

  For a time, it seemed Vykers had turned to stone, a display of emotionlessness that frightened Aoife more than if he’d started screaming. “We have both been betrayed,” he growled at last. “You bedded an imposter.”

  It was an outlandish suggestion, and yet, in her heart, Aoife had known it all along. This beast, this force of nature in front of her was the real Tarmun Vykers. That thing she’d entertained some weeks earlier was…what, exactly?

  “Figures, you couldn’t tell the difference,” the Reaper spat as he walked away.

  What could Aoife say in response? That she could tell the difference? That she’d been wrong but knew the real Reaper now? And what would it matter, since she was devoted to growth and he to destruction?

  “I’ll see you in battle!” she yelled at his retreating back.

  And then he was gone.

  *****

  Alheria & Vykers, In Camp

  Her Majesty caught Vykers in his worst mood in ages, so black that even she was tempted to flee from him.

  “What?” he demanded, as she appeared before him.

  “I’ve been watching, and, as promised, I am here to help you fight the End.”

  “Where’s Arune?”

  “Normally, I wouldn’t stop you killing her, but, as it happens, Cindor has suffered a setback, and I need her help. As do you.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Where you’ll never find her. Now, let us talk about the End, shall we?”

  The Queen launched into a detailed explanation about how she planned to attack the End and what she expected of Vykers and his companions. He didn’t hear a word of it, though, so busy was he in plotting her murder and that of Arune, the End, and anyone else who stood in his way.

  I am done bein’ fucked with, he broode
d. It is time for the Reaper to start a’-reapin’!

  *****

  Vykers & Company, On the March

  To Vykers’ surprise, there was a bitch of a blizzard outside the forest. That he and his company had been unaware of it was testament, he supposed, to Aoife’s power. And maybe she was right: maybe he didn’t know much about her. Nevertheless, he and his troops left the forest and began marching in the direction specified by Alheria. The weather being what it was, it was almost impossible to stay on course, but Long Pete’s young Shaper did manage to offer some timely instructions that kept everyone more or less on target.

  “This weather’s sorcerous,” Karrakan shouted above the howling wind.

  No shit, thought Vykers. “Won’t matter,” is what he yelled back.

  *****

  The End, In Camp

  The End was almost taken aback to discover Vykers and his handful of friends approaching through the storm. Were they mad? How in the world could such a tiny force ever hope to compete with the sorcerer? The answer, of course, was that they could not. It had to be a ruse, then, a feint of some sort. Surely, there was a larger force coming at him from a different direction. No matter how hard or how far he looked, however, the End was unable to find anyone else on the plain except for his frozen and, by now, literally frozen Svarren.

  The Reaper had said something about Alheria. Was it possible she was lurking out in the storm somewhere? Or was he merely being paranoid? The End had underestimated the Reaper and his allies before, and it had cost him dearly. Fleetingly, he wondered if he could rally the Svarren to his cause a final time. Given the events of the last few days, he doubted it. The End pondered running, too, and hiding. He’d promised himself over and over that he’d be fully prepared for battle this time around, and yet all his grand schemes had fallen apart. But when would he ever have another chance to destroy the Reaper once and for all?

  No; he was resigned.

  Reaching out with all his energies, he commanded to storm to redouble its fury. Let winter have him, if that’s what he wants! The End smiled.

  *****

  Vykers & Company, On the March

  It got so cold that Vykers’ troops huddled together even as they moved. Spirk and Karrakan created pockets of warmth that enveloped most of the group, but even then they were sore beset by the lashing, gale-force winds and snow.

  It came to Vykers then that this was the End’s element, his gift. He’d made it snow during their first battle, and he was doing it again and worse this time. If the Queen was a goddess, and the End, one of her offspring, might he not be the God of Winter?

  “Igraine!” he bellowed over the storm, “Is there a god of winter?”

  Her expression was hard to read through the wind and cold, but she finally said, “There once was.”

  “What was his name?” Igraine yelled something in response, but Vykers couldn’t make it out. He steered his mount closer to her and tried again. “What?”

  “Eyatu.”

  Eyatu. The fuck kinda name is that? As strange, as foreign as it was in Vykers’ ears and mouth, it also felt powerful. Eyatu. I wonder if the End’ll recognize it.

  *****

  Long, On the March

  Long passed the time on the back of a spare mount, alternately marveling at the creature’s strength and speed and worrying about Mardine. And Esmun Janks. There were two people in his life who’d died and come back. Janks’ return had seemed an insolvable mystery, but now that Mardine had returned as well, Long had to admit there was something intentional, something purposeful going on. But what? And how did it involve him? He looked over at his wife, marching along with her kinfolk surrounding her, as if to protect her from further ills.

  She had died because Long hadn’t been there to protect her himself, hadn’t been there to protect Esmine. Because he’d gone off to pursue glory and riches, like a damned fool, telling himself it was for his family, but all the while using the mission to feel better about himself. Ultimately, he hadn’t felt better and had lost his family to boot. Now that he had a chance – a second chance – to become a worthy husband and father, what was he doing? Riding along with the Mahnus-cursed Reaper, into a fight that would almost certainly leave Mardine dead again or himself just dead.

  He shook his head in disgust at himself. I am no more and no better than these snowflakes, blown along on the wind, to land wherever it pleases Mahnus.

  *****

  The End & Alheria, at War

  He felt her before he saw her. Alheria towered behind him, a hundred feet tall if an inch.

  “Dismiss your storm, boy!” the Queen roared.

  The End looked around and up at her and laughter bubbled out of him. “Really! Such a spectacle!”

  A wall of force hit him so hard that he shot backwards, tumbling head over heels for a hundred strides before landing hard in the snow.

  “Dismiss your storm!”

  He blasted the colossus with ice, instead.

  “Very well!”

  A circle of fire erupted from the Queen and spread outwards for some time before petering out. It was a spell the End had once favored himself, although he had to admit the Queen had a much better grasp of it. The air had gone still and clear for a quarter mile in every direction, and the End was scorched, but not fatally so.

  Whilst his back was turned, he felt the Shaper’s jump at his back and he rapidly repositioned himself so that he could see both Her Majesty and the arriving enemies. Impressively, the Queen had jumped Vykers’ whole group to within a few feet of the sorcerer.

  “What is it you all want?” the End demanded petulantly.

  “Your end,” said Aoife.

  The End wheeled in her direction. “Ah, sister!” he crooned. “Old scores, eh?”

  At the word ‘sister,’ Vykers about fell off his horse. Instead, he drew his dagger and slowly dismounted.

  “What madness are you babbling?” he called over to the End.

  The sorcerer’s eyebrows went up in a comical arch. “You didn’t know? Why yes, Aoife is my sister, the little forest nymph!”

  “And Alheria’s your mother,” said Vykers, struggling to make sense of things.

  The End capered with delight. If he’d ever been sane, he was far from it now. “She didn’t tell you that, Reaper! How did you discover it?”

  “Enough” the gigantic Queen declared. “You talk too much, boy!” With that, she reached down and attempted to grab the sorcerer like an adult grabs a wayward toy.

  The End cast his own Shaper’s jump, just beyond the reach of Her Majesty and the Reaper. “But I’m having such a delightful time!”

  “Are you, Eyatu?” Vykers snarled.

  The End’s smile vanished from his face, and his arms fell limply to his sides. He cocked his head at an angle, the way a dog does when it’s confused. “I remem…”

  Alheria hit him with a blast of arcane energy so intense that all her allies were left blind for several seconds afterwards. When Vykers’ vision returned, he noticed a small shadow trailing behind the Queen: Arune. Old scores, indeed.

  The End disappeared briefly, only to reappear farther way. He swept his arms upward and an army of ice golems sprang into being. Before the Reaper could stop her, Aoife rushed forward and threw a handful of pinecones in the End’s direction. It seemed such an absurd, such a futile gesture, that Vykers could barely contain his frustration with the woman. In the next breath, however, he saw the cones explode. Their seeds must have taken root, for a forest of pines surged through the snow’s icy mantle and raced skyward. The golems, it seemed, were not meant to battle trees, so they stood, awaiting the enemy’s advance. As Vykers’ group watched in fascination, the small forest grew and spread at an astonishing rate.

  The mad sorcerer continued to back away, whilst Alheria maneuvered to outflank him. With her prodigious gate, she managed the feat with ease, and the End was hard-pressed to elude her by conventional means. Yet, he could not wander too far from his gole
ms and still control them.

  Eoman looked over at Vykers, awaiting the man’s signal to attack. Vykers caught his eye, nodded, and rushed forward, roaring. Seeing this, the rest of the giants and Vykers’ men followed suit. Even Long’s team was caught up in the frenzy of battle, and they, likewise, eagerly joined the fray.

  The End sent spell after spell in Alheria’s direction, to little or no avail. But the gigantic Queen had equal difficulty penetrating her son’s defenses. Meanwhile, the battle was joined between the giants and the golems. Eoman and his friends smashed into the ice creatures, obliterating two or three on impact. The remaining golems, though, proved to be made of stronger stuff and fought with a ferocity that even Beesmarch found daunting.

  The fey emerged from Aoife’s still-growing forest in all their diversity – ogres, toads, satyrs, sprites, nixies and too many things whose names were yet unknown. Each and every one attacked the ice golems, or pressed the advance upon the End.

  Vykers had no interest in the golems or the fey. He made his way through the living maze of combatants and charged the End. The sorcerer was not prepared to engage the Reaper, though, and so flew into the air, just beyond Vykers’ reach. He recalled that the Reaper had flown before, but also that his enemy was less agile off his feet, and the End hoped this was still the case.

  Aoife, too, had somehow gotten past the golems and made her way towards the sorcerer. She summoned a noxious green cloud from her forest and sent it wafting at her brother’s head. Let him breathe that!

  As amusing as the whole encounter seemed to the End, he was beginning to panic. Most of the spells he conjured to deal with his mortal foes were negated by the Queen, and his golems were falling without having inflicted much damage themselves. Having had and seen enough, the sorcerer tried to jump away again…only to find himself magically rooted to the spot. Fear seized his gut as he made a visual assessment of enemies and their positions. To his horror, Vykers was nearly upon him.

  *****

  Long, at War

  The ice monsters, as Long thought of them, were impressive creatures – immune to fear, pain or fatigue – but they did not like fire, as Spirk had quickly discovered. The boy, too, had become impressive in his own right. When Long had first met him, Spirk was an absolute nothing, a nobody with no prospects, no talents, and no future. Now, he was a true Shaper, perhaps not as powerful or adept as the End, but a force to be reckoned with nonetheless. Long was proud to know him.