Soul Stealers cvc-2

by Andy Remic

  "The game is not finished. Not yet."

  "Still. We are a partnership."

  "Is that why you killed Styx? Because you worked out another way to persuade me?"

  "Yes. The power of the Black Pike Mountains brings out the magicker in me; but you are correct. I knew none of this when I poisoned you, and as we drew close to the Pikes then the dreams began, the visions, the pains in my heart."

  "I will take you where you want to go," said Kell.

  "To Silva Valley? Through the Secret Trails? The Worm Caves?"

  "Yes."

  "You swear?"

  "If you save Nienna's life, as in that vision, then I swear. Now get me that damn antidote! I feel as if you have my balls in the palm of your hand, and I don't bloody like it!"

  "Maybe one day I will," soothed Myriam, and turned, and disappeared back into the small stone room at the foot of the keep. She emerged with a tiny vial, and tossed it to Kell. He shook it. There was a small amount of clear liquid within.

  He unstoppered the vial, and stared at Myriam. Then knocked it back in one.

  "It will take a day or so, but will cleanse the poison from your system. This, I swear."

  "And what of Nienna?" growled Kell, voice dark.

  "I was never poisoned, grandfather!" smiled Nienna. "That was a lie. A lie to bring you here."

  Kell stared for a long time at Myriam. She hid it well, but she was terrified. Eventually, Kell blinked, and relaxed his hand from the terrible haft of Ilanna.

  "Now, we can kill her," smiled Saark, and glanced to Kell for support. "Yes, Big Man? Is that what you have in mind?" He was too eager. Too eager for death.

  "No," said Kell. "You saw the magick."

  "Pah!" snapped Saark. "She conjured that from thin air; it is an empty ruse, a courtside conman's trick, a slick cock up your arse, my friend. Do you not see?"

  "It may or may not be real." Kell had a stubborn look on his face. His voice was low. "And maybe I have my own business now, in Silva Valley."

  "Your own business? Like what?"

  "That would be my business."

  "You are worse than any mule," frowned Saark, and sheathed his rapier in disappointment. "Listen. Can we at least rest before we set off on some foolhardy mission through the most treacherous mountains the world has ever known? I stink. I stink worse than the donkey. In fact, I stink worse than you, Kell!"

  Kell stared at Saark, and realised the man was saving face. He urgently wanted Myriam dead, and it was still there in his eyes, a burning coal. But for now, Kell could rely on Saark not to unbalance the equilibrium. But long term? Whether Kell believed in the vision or not, whether Kell chose to kill Myriam or not, Saark would one day have his way. And that sat bad in the back of Kell's mind, like an old bone buried by a dead dog.

  "We have time," said Myriam, and stepped aside, pointing back into the small room – which in turn led to a small complex of apartments, empty and cold now, but which once must have housed a gatemaster and his family. "We can build a fire. Heat water. It is better than camping in the snow and ice."

  Nienna led the way inside, followed by Kell, who struggled to squeeze Ilanna's huge butterfly blades through the opening.

  Saark looked at Myriam. She smiled, and tilted her head.

  "I have one question."

  "Which is?"

  "Where was I in the vision?"

  "But you don't believe in it, dandy."

  "That doesn't matter. Where was I?"

  Myriam shrugged, and moved into the building.

  "Playing damn games with my head," Saark muttered, and followed with a certain amount of apprehension.

  The main guard room was small, but Myriam had built a fire in the hearth filling the limited space with heat. The group slept on under their travelling blankets, but the stone plinths in the chamber used as beds were hard and unforgiving, uncomfortable and deeply cold. Outside, the wind howled from the high passes of the Black Pike Mountains, rasping and ululating through guttural corridors and wide, slightly skewed battlements. Even in the guard room, every line was just a little bit out of square. It made for many complaints, as each bed seemed to be trying to roll its occupant to the floor, or twist them into an unsubtle heap.

  Kell slept a deep sleep without dreams, his rage at last satiated in his quest for Nienna. For this simple pleasure, he was thankful. It was also a sleep of recovery, as the antidote to Myriam's poison went to work on the toxins in his blood, in his muscles, in his organs, eating away at the chemicals that would make Kell a dead man. But at the back of it all was the secure knowledge that Nienna was unharmed, and that he was by her side, his axe in one hand, his bulk and ferocity and skill a barrier to any who might now threaten her.

  Nienna slept uneasily. The Cailleach Fortress was not just unwelcoming, but deeply unnerving. As she lay, thinking about her dead friend Katrina and all the good times they'd been through, and contemplating the young woman's death for the thousandth time, so she would hear gentle whispers like draughts from the higher reaches of the chamber, or hisses and bangs, like popping stones in the fire. Nienna thought of her mother, a long way distant, lost and lonely – possibly even dead. Had she fallen when the Army of Iron invaded Falanor? Was she dead and buried, food for worms? Or had she found an escape? After all, she was a very resilient woman. She was the daughter of Kell.

  Saark, on the other hand, tossed and turned, his teeth hurting him, his blood hurting him. His heart raced through his ears, pounded at him with hammers as his body fluctuated from a heart rate of one beat per minute, leaving him gasping for oxygen, then shooting up to two or even three hundred beats, racing through his chest like a steam-powered clockwork engine and making him claw his blankets in panic, the world a swirl of weird colours and surreal smells and sounds as his senses adjusted, and he felt himself dropping into the world of the altered human…

  Eventually the feelings passed, and Saark was just falling into an exhausted sleep after three nights of wakefulness when he sensed somebody close to him. A hand touched his chest, lightly, and Saark's eyes flared open in panic. It was Myriam. He remembered the last time she had been this close; the stab of the knife, the wound in his guts, eating soil. Saark grabbed her wrist, a savage hard movement, but Myriam did not complain. She was there, beside him, her breathing slow, her eyes glittering.

  She leaned close, so that her words tickled his ear, and Saark was a split second from drawing his punchdagger and feeding it to her eyeball. "I would speak with you," she said, words gentle.

  "Last time you wanted to speak with me, you stabbed me in the belly."

  "That was different." She seemed to be fighting something, and her face twisted. "I am… different."

  "Really? That is a surprise."

  "Damn you, Saark! Come outside."

  She stood, and he let go of her wrist, leaving enraged marks where his surprisingly powerful grip had scoured her flesh. He watched her leave, a cold wind and curls of snow entering the warm guard room on her departure. Cursing, Saark rolled from his hard bed and pulled on trews, boots and cloak. He stepped outside, closing the door quietly behind him, and was hit in the face by a snap of wind-driven snow. He gasped. The cold reached into every gap in his clothing and bit him like a piranha. He cursed. Then cursed again. He saw Myriam further ahead, sheltering under a huge towering buttress of stone. Saark put his hand on the hilt of his rapier, and walked towards her, grimly. If there was any foul play, he would gut her like a fish.

  The sky was dark, but a glowing edge to the horizon signified the beginnings of dawn. Snow and wind whipped and shrieked. Saark gazed up at the massive keep, huge and black, slick with ice and slightly jigged from the vertical.

  Walking towards Myriam, one hand holding the neck of his cloak together, he snapped, "What the shit do you want, woman? It isn't normal to be out in this." "You'd better get used to it. We have a long way to go."

  "What do you want?"

  Myriam met his gaze, then. "I wanted to say I am sorry.
About before, in Falanor, when I…"

  "When you stabbed me in the guts? You bitch."

  "Yes. I was. I was fuelled by hatred, by need, by a lust for life. It has made me irrational. Unpredictable. And I confess, a little… insane." She took a deep breath. Looked off, over the skewed fortress battlements. "I would make amends. I would say that I am sorry. That is all."

  "Kell is taking you to the Silva Valley. We are here because of you."

  Myriam shook her head. "I cannot explain it, but you are here for a greater good. This is what the magick has shown me, taught me, revealed to me."

  Saark's eyes were hard. "You'll not con me with your half-penny tricks, bitch. I've seen plenty of part time conjurers in my time; and in my experience, the only thing they crave is silver coin. Amazingly, this impending accrued wealth always coincides with a 'greater good'. Crazy, wouldn't you agree?"

  "You can believe what you wish. But Kell believes, and that is for all our benefit."

  "Yeah, well, the old goat's a rancid fool."

  "I will say it again. I am sorry. You can take it with grace, and acknowledge that I may have changed – that, bizarrely – spending time with Nienna has, shall we say, altered my view of the world. She has touched me. She has changed me. And now, because I have changed, the magick runs deeper through my veins. In sacrificing my hate, in stepping away from my rage, I can see more clearly."

  "Good for you, girl! What do you want? A big sloppy kiss?"

  "Curb your cynicism," she snapped, and he could see tears on her cheeks. Saark chewed his lip, and considered stepping close to her, holding her, hugging her, telling her he forgave the vicious stabbing back in the woods. But his mind shifted. She was a chameleon. She was out for self-preservation. He did not believe she had changed, but still sought personal profit at their little group's expense.

  "Ha! I'm going back to bed. Save your sob stories for Kell. He's a sucker for a dying woman."

  "But you, Saark? What do you care about?"

  Saark gave a dark smile under the glowing edges of a rising winter sun. "Why, I'm a soft touch when it comes to myself."

  "So we are the same, then?"

  Saark stared at Myriam, stared at her hard as the truth of her words bit him. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. She was correct. They were exactly the same. Saark used people for his own ends. He always had, and he always would. He was vain, narcissistic, and totally enveloped with furthering his own pleasure – and life. Shit, he realised. Shit. In Myriam's position, would he have acted the same? Would he have stabbed somebody, poisoned another, in order to force them to help? And he knew, deep down in the glowing embers of his ruptured heart, that he probably would.

  With shame touching him, he turned and went back to his cold bed. And the pounding of the rampant vachine blood-oil in his veins echoed right down to his soul.

  Soon after dawn they followed a narrow alleyway through the fortress, winding between towering dark walls which exuded not just cold and gloom and abandonment, but an inherent dread which seemed to be a part of this long-deserted fortress. People had not only died here, it felt as if their souls had been sucked into the very stones, distorting them, tearing them free.

  Kell led the way, walking his skittish horse with Nienna in the saddle. He didn't want to let her out of his sight. Nobody would take his granddaughter from him again; not without stepping over his dead body first. Next came Myriam, dressed in warm winter garb, her face seeming more shrunken on this freezing morn, her eyes ringed with purple and black, her breathing rasping and shallow. And behind came Saark, a wary eye on Myriam, listening to her ragged cancerous breathing and wondering how long she really had left. She wanted to reach Silva Valley, but according to Kell it was a hard, brutal journey and Saark could not quite puzzle out why he was still agreeing to do it. Surely, he could turn around now? He had Nienna. He had the antidote. And even if he believed Myriam's magick, her supposed prophecy, if he headed away from the Black Pikes then surely he would never see a pride of snow lions. How, then, could he lose Nienna to attack? It was strange. Saark decided to question Kell in private when the opportunity arose.

  Within the hour they were free of the Cailleach Fortress, and in a narrow valley which ran beyond, through a narrow pass with massive, sheer towering walls. It was terribly gloomy in the pass, and huge rocks littered the floor, in places rising in piles which the group had to scramble up and over, slipping and sliding on wet rocks and ice. The horses struggled on gamely, and with pride Saark watched Mary – more agile than them all, despite carrying a heavy load on her back. The donkey did not complain, but willingly climbed each hill of loose rock to stand, staring down at the cursing humans with an almost equine arrogance.

  After a while, Kell called a halt. "It's no good taking the horses any further, unless we intend to eat them."

  Everybody stared at him. "You can't eat a good horse," snapped Saark. "What a waste of a fine creature!"

  Kell grunted. "It's meat, like anything else. But the path will grow ever more treacherous; best now to let them free. They will soon start to slow us down. If we release them here, there's a chance we may find them on our return."

  "Our return," said Myriam, softly, eyes distant. She smiled a skeletal smile. "Maybe some of us won't return? Instead, we will find paradise."

  "In your dreams, Myriam," said Saark unkindly, and slapped his mount's rump, watching the beast slither back down the pathway and canter to a halt. The group emptied saddlebags, and then Kell stared meaningfully at Mary.

  "No," said Saark.

  "She'll be a pain in the arse."

  "Nonsense! Mary is a fine beast, agile as a goat, the stamina of a lion. Where I go, Mary goes."

  Kell peered close, and grinned. "Is there something I don't know about you and that mule?"

  "Mary is a donkey. And don't be so crass." "Why not? You've fucked everything else in existence."

  "I resent that, axeman."

  "Why so? I've never seen one so rampant. You'll be chasing Myriam next!" He roared with laughter, some good humour returned, and slapped Saark on the back. "Come on lad. Walk ahead with me. I wish to talk."

  They moved on after releasing the horses, and Saark led Mary, her rope wrapped around one fist. Behind, Nienna walked with Myriam, and Myriam smiled down at the girl. "Is it good? Good to be back with your grandfather?"

  "Yes. I have missed him terribly. I knew he would come for me."

  "I… I wanted to apologise, girl. For the way I treated you. And treated him. I have been selfish beyond reason."

  Nienna shrugged. "What I don't understand is why we are still here. Why we are heading through the mountains. I thought he would leave you when you gave him the antidote; in fact, I thought he would cut you in half." She smiled, a weak, cold smile, her eyes glittering.

  Myriam sighed. "I have done… bad things, Nienna. I admit that. And I deserve Kell's hatred. And even yours."

  "I don't hate you," said Nienna, smiling gently. "I see your pain, understand your agony. I pity you, Myriam, not hate you."

  Myriam's eyes went dark. "Well girl, sometimes pity is far worse."

  Ahead, Kell had halted. The towering walls were silent, looming, filling the narrow pass with shadows. Water trickled and gushed in various places, and had frozen solid in others, either in fingers of sculpted, corrugated ice, or in vast, hanging sheets. Occasionally, stones rattled down the sheer iron-stained flanks of this interior slice from the mountain range.

  "We must move with care," said Kell. "There have been many rockfalls here over the years. Any loud noise could bring down the Pikes on our bloody heads. We all understand?"

  "Aye," nodded Saark, rubbing Mary's muzzle.

  They set off again, down a rocky slope, boots slithering. Eventually, Saark said, "Kell, I have a question." "It better not be about sex," growled the huge warrior.

  "No no. Not this time. I was simply wondering why we are still here?"

  "Think about it."

 
"About Myriam?"

  "No, you dolt. About the two vachine who Graal sent to kill us. I was thinking about them; thinking a lot. Graal has invaded Falanor, wiped the whole damn army of Leanoric under his boots. So then. What next? We stumble through his camp like blind men through a brothel, and by some bloody miracle manage to escape. What should Graal do? Continue his expansion in the name of vachine blood-oil gathering? Or spend considerable resources sending killers after us? Why? Why hunt us down? He knew we were heading north. Why waste two of his best killers? Surely he has more important fish to fry."

  Saark considered this. "He knew your history, Kell. About being a Vachine Hunter for the old Battle King."

  "Exactly. But that should not worry him; what's the worst I could do? Harry a few stray vachine scum in the mountains? Hardly a threat to his war effort, don't you think?"

  "What are you getting at?"

  "Graal knows I was heading north. He knows I know the Pikes. Maybe – and this is just a thought – maybe he thinks I'm heading for Silva Valley. The homeland of the vachine. But then, surely I would be slaughtered the minute I arrived?"

  "So you think Graal wants to stop you finding Silva Valley?"

  Kell nodded. "Yes. He thinks I know something I don't. There is some great mystery here, some puzzle we need to unravel. I think Graal is not playing for the vachine; I think he works his own game, I think the conniving bastard is up to his own bowel-stinking tricks. But what? What could he possibly be doing? And why would he think I was a threat to his plans?"

  "I see your reasoning. And now I see why we're heading north, instead of south back to the relative comfort of Falanor – such as we'd be able to find. If Graal doesn't want you here, this is probably the best place for you to be."

  "Exactly!" growled Kell. "Silva Valley, that is where the answers lie. The more we travelled north after Nienna, the more I realised that Myriam's goal is our goal. She wants immortality; I want answers. Our only chance of stopping this damned invasion is to confront its source. We need to know more about these Harvester bastards, we need to know where the albino soldiers come from – but more importantly, we need to find the source of the vachine."