Soul Stealers cvc-2

by Andy Remic

  "I have a trade."

  "Another one?" growled Saark. "The only trade you deserve is a blade between the ribs."

  "Quiet," snapped Kell, scowling. "She's done bad things. We all agree this. But then, Saark, you are hardly the angel. I have not forgotten what you did with Kat. You are a predator. What did the men say back at the village? At Kettleskull Creek? 'Saark, an arrogant rich bastard, unable to keep his childmaker in his cheese-stinking pants.'"

  "Oh. You heard that, did you?"

  "I heard it, lad." He glanced at Myriam. "What are you thinking?"

  "Information. About the Soul Stealers."

  "Go on."

  "You promise not to kill me?"

  "If I'd wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead."

  Myriam nodded, realising that her life hung by a thread, and that thread was called Nienna. She swallowed.

  "The Soul Stealers. They are creatures of the Black Pike Mountains. That is what I read."

  "Yes?"

  "Their father is said to be an ancient servant of the Vampire Warlords. They do his bidding. I read that for hundreds of years the Soul Stealers have been employed in an attempt to bring back the Vampire Warlords – and if they do, these Warlords will use the vachine and the albinos and the Harvesters… all will be subservient, all will turn the world into a dark place of chaos."

  Kell considered this. "I have heard this tale before," he said. "About these Warlords, although under a different name; it is a fiction used to frighten little children by the fire. It is a nonsense."

  Myriam shrugged. "There is a place, Helltop, a mountain-top hall, a sacred place of the vachine. It overlooks Silva Valley, from thousands and thousands of feet up. It is said to be the home of the Soul Stealers. It is said that they cannot be killed except in that place, for it is a source of their power, the source of their own collective soul. And when they kill, every soul they take flows back to the Granite Thrones which reside there."

  "I have heard of the Granite Thrones," said Nienna, suddenly. "It is where the Blood Kings once sat. We did it in Classical History in preparation for Jalder University." She went quiet, then. She was continually reminded of a life she no longer had.

  Kell nodded, remembering shoving his Svian deep into the vachine who attacked him. He should have pierced her core, with a blow like that. He should have destroyed her clockwork engine. "You think we'll have big trouble with these Soul Stealers?"

  "I guarantee it," whispered Myriam.

  With the dawn they set off through an icy valley, and a stone path rose in a series of switch-backs for perhaps two thousand feet. They climbed this narrow pathway in silence, hands cold and tucked into furs and pockets, and with faces tortured by the biting, howling, bitter mountain wind. Kell led the way in grim silence, brooding. When Nienna asked how long they had before the Soul Stealers and the cankers caught up with them, he just smiled grimly and shook his head.

  At the rear travelled Saark, and Myriam dropped back, boots kicking loose rocks. She walked along beside him for a while, in silence, as jagged walls reared around them and far above, an eagle soared.

  "Have you forgiven me yet?" she said, smiling.

  "No. Fuck off."

  "Harsh words, Saark."

  "Not as harsh as sticking a knife in an unsuspecting man's belly."

  "That was a mistake. I admit that now."

  "Not easy to forget, nor forgive."

  "Still, I am sorry. I apologise. I would never, ever do it again." She met his eyes. "I mean it, sincerely, Saark. It was a mistake." She gave a short laugh, like a bark. "I must admit, the more I have got to know Kell, the more I admire him. He is so strong, powerful, a giant to walk the mountains with."

  "Careful girl, I think you're getting a bit wet down there."

  Myriam looked at him, her face humoured. "You think so? Because of Kell, or because of you?"

  Saark stopped for a moment, staring at her, then continued to walk the steep trails, calf muscles burning, feet throbbing inside his boots, his pack a dead weight across his spine – as if he carried a corpse.

  He shook his head. Smiled. "I must admit, girl, I do tend to have that effect on young women." He considered this. "And middle aged women. Hell, even grannies. It's rare I've met a woman alive who doesn't want a bit of the tender Saark loving."

  "Do you really think that much of yourself?"

  "No. Women think much of me. I am simply along for the ride."

  "Have you ever been in love?" Saark's smile fell, and immediately Myriam realised her mistake. "I am sorry," she said.

  "No. No, don't be. I shouldn't bottle my guilt and self-loathing inside; it's an unhealthy combination. Yes. I have been in love. Twice. One was taken away from me, for an arranged marriage."

  "And the other?"

  "The other was married to another," said Saark, voice a croak, eyes filled with tears. He waved away her concern. "Ach, both were a long time ago, although some bastard seems intent on reminding me of past miseries. Have you ever been in love?"

  "No," said Myriam, tilting her head to one side. "I admire men, for looks or physique, but if I am totally honest, then no man has ever grabbed my heart. And then, well, I became ill, and it has eaten away at me, robbed me of youth and my looks, even my bodyweight. It is a savage punishment. The gods have a sick sense of humour, don't they? They seem to use most of it on me. No wonder I became so bitter."

  Saark was watching her. "I admit," he said, voice soft, "once, you must have been a bonny lass."

  "Enough to turn your eye, Sword Champion!" she snapped, "But no more."

  "I'm sorry. I did not mean to offend."

  "None taken," but her voice had become more brutal, more desolate.

  "It must have been difficult. Watching yourself fading away."

  "Yes, Saark." Her voice was little more than a whisper, and they came to a narrow set of large boulder-type steps, blocks carved from the mountain trail. Kell had helped Nienna up, and was ahead. Saark leapt lightly up, then turned and as Myriam climbed, she slipped… Saark moved so fast he was a blur, and caught her wrist. He lifted her onto the stone step, her hand in his, one hand on her hip. They stood for a moment, looking at one another, then Saark stepped back and coughed, releasing his hold.

  "Watch your step, girl. That's a three thousand foot drop. And I bet you don't bounce much on the way down."

  "Thank you."

  "Pleasure."

  They moved on. "Imagine," said Myriam, "if you suffered a horrible scarring to your face. Or you were trapped in a fire, and ended up with face and hair on fire leaving you brutally burned and ugly. How would you respond?"

  Saark shivered. "It is a fate worse than death," he conceded. "I would be an easy victim for a torturer. This is my weakness, I admit. The minute he touched my face, I'd whimper like a girl and spill any and all secrets I carried."

  "Vanity is a curse," said Myriam.

  "Ahh, but only when you're not as beautiful as I."

  "You are a real romantic," said Myriam, voice hard.

  "I try," preened Saark, missing the irony – or choosing, at least, to ignore it. "I try, my sweet."

  At the top of the climb they came to a plateau coated in hard-packed snow. Their boots crunched and, despite their ascent, a world of further, higher peaks spread around them in a glorious, full panorama. Nienna spun in circles, giggling, and Kell breathed deep. The wind was curiously still on this mountain summit, and Kell pointed with Ilanna, across a high ridgeline peppered with ice.

  "Wolfspine," he said, simply.

  "Looks dangerous," muttered Saark.

  "It is," replied Kell, darkly. "We must take great care." He ruffled Nienna's long, dark hair. "And especially you, little monkey." But Nienna did not reply; her eyes were wide at the sight of the ridge they were to traverse.

  Wolfspine. A half-league in length, a narrow, undulating ridge perhaps a foot in width, and with sheer four thousand foot drops to either side. The path itself was an inverted V of stone, bla
ck, slippery, frosted with lace patterns of ice.

  Kell led the way, across a slightly curved plateau of snow, boots crunching. The air was still, and calm, brittle and cold, and bright light glared painfully from white snow.

  Saark caught him up. "We are wonderfully illequipped for this," he said.

  "You think I don't realise that, lad?"

  "Just thought I'd mention it."

  "Just try not to fall off, eh?"

  "I'll certainly do my best on that account."

  They stopped, where the mountain plateau rose and narrowed to the Wolfspine. Distant, through a haze of low cloud, they saw the next peak, the next Black Pike connected by this insane walkway of treacherous, icy rock.

  "Is there no other way?" whispered Saark.

  "No. The next five peaks are impossible to climb, and this ridge rises and dips, but links each peak together; without it, there would be no way to Silva Valley. The mountains form a protective barrier. In deep winter, this place is impassable – to all but the mad."

  "Ha, and I suppose you're going to tell me you've done it?"

  "I have," said Kell, voice low. "But I had ropes, and boots with spikes, and proper ice-axes."

  "Can we do it now, do you think?"

  "We're going to find out, Saark. There's no point going back. And… I want you to go first."

  "Me?" squeaked the dandy, his fear palpable. "Why not you? You've all the damn experience. What do I know? I just drink wine and fuck pampered plump beauties. This is out of my bounds, Kell old horse. This is so far out of my world I should be paddling among the stars."

  "I must take the rear," said Kell.

  "Why?"

  "In case those bastard cankers come back."

  "Oh. Yes. A fine reason."

  Kell stood, staring along the ridgeline. He glanced back at the near-flat plateau. It stretched off, then fell away into a darkness of seemingly endless valleys and tumbling mountain slopes. Beyond, he could see Falanor stretching away, see her hills and distant villages, her frozen rivers and snow-covered forests. Here, he knew – here was the point where Falanor fell behind, vanished, was eaten by the mountains. Here was the point of no return.

  He remembered his time before, in the Black Pikes, hunting vachine.

  "Damn," he said, and his gaze swept the world. Everything was clear and still and unbearably dazzling. It was like the gods had painted the world in pastel shades. Kell watched Falanor, and felt as if Falanor stared back. Help me, she said. Purify me. Make me proud.

  "I'll be back," growled Kell, turned his back on Falanor, and started to climb up to the Wolfspine ridge.

  "They're coming."

  Nienna's voice was high in panic. Kell turned, glanced back over the undulating ridge. They were picking their way carefully over the narrow ribbon of stone, and clouds had shifted, a mist enclosing the small group, muffling sounds and at least, for a while, hiding the heart-stopping sheer drops to either side.

  Kell drew Ilanna, and stood. He heard the snarls. The mist moved in patches, sometimes clearing, sometimes thickening. Then it cleared on their back-trail, and Kell saw the two crimson equine cankers. They moved fast along the ridge, sure-footed, drooling, their eyes fixed on their quarry, on fresh meat, on palpable fear.

  There came a whoosh by Kell's ear, and an arrow punched into the lead canker, just below its face. It roared, feathered shaft erupting from its flesh, and pawed at the buried arrow for a moment, snapping the shaft. It roared again, and charged, pace increasing.

  "Saark," growled Kell. "Go on. Get Nienna to the next peak. There is a resting place on the top of the mountain, a stone shelter. It would be easier to defend than here."

  "And what about you?"

  "I'll stay awhile, see what happens."

  Another shaft hissed from Myriam's bow, and hit the lead canker in the eye. It reared then, screeching an impossibly high screech, and toppled from the mountain, sliding down the terrible slope at first, then connecting with a large rock and soaring out into the void. The mist swallowed the canker, and the monster was gone.

  Now, as the mist cleared in patches, from further down behind the cankers strode the Soul Stealers. One lifted her bow, and too late Kell focused and realised. An arrow flashed, and Ilanna rose – but too slow. The arrow nicked his cheek, leaving a fine line of blood as it continued its trajectory… behind Kell, and into Myriam's throat. She gurgled, gasping, clawing the shaft and staggering back. She hit the ground, pitched sideways, and before Kell could grab her, slid off the ridgeline and into the vast, swallowing mist of the mountain void.

  Nienna screamed.

  Kell scowled, and turned back. Another arrow flashed for him, but with a rising rage and casual arrogance Ilanna snapped up and the arrow was deflected, cracking off into the mist.

  Kell faced the final, charging canker.

  And the Soul Stealers beyond.

  "Come on," he growled, lowering his head. "Come and eat my fucking axe."

  CHAPTER 13

  Kindred

  Vashell stared at the three vachine warriors, and heard Fiddion's Harvester head crackling in the fire as flames consumed flesh, and felt Alloria move away, behind him, giving him combat space. Vashell breathed deep, and settled into a rhythm of battle. They were underestimating him, he knew, because he had no face or claws or fangs, but Vashell was a warrior born. He hefted his knife, and stepped forward as the first of the vachine attacked…

  It moved fast, leaping almost horizontally at Vashell who dropped his shoulder in a blur, knife ramming up into the vachine's belly and ripping savagely sideways as he took the vachine's short black sword in his fist, and twisted allowing the moving body to slam against the wall with a splatter of blood. With a short hack, he severed the vachine's head and blood-oil flowed free from the neck stump. Nobody else had moved. Vashell squared himself to the other two creatures who stared, stunned at what they'd just witnessed. They separated as far as the cave would allow, and as the wind howled mournfully outside, Vashell caught sight of his brother from the corner of his eye; Llaran was smiling.

  "What's funny?" snarled Vashell. "The fact I'm going to sever your spine?"

  "You cannot stand against us."

  "Watch me."

  With a battle shriek Vashell attacked, ducking a sword strike and slash of claws, elbowing the vachine in the face and front-kicking the second, leaping figure back to the wall. He leapt himself, and sword blades clashed, and he reversed his sword thrusting it under his own arm and into the chest of the vachine leaping at his back. The creature gurgled, and clockwork whined and clicked, and Vashell withdrew the blade, turned fast and lopped off the second man's head… continuing the fluid move with a roll of hips, drop of one shoulder, his left arm bearing the knife coming up, a clash of steel sending sparks scattering through the cave as the short black sword came high overhead to slam through the third vachine's shoulder, and deep down into lungs. Clockwork machinery, spinning and moving, could be seen through severed, wide-open flesh. Vashell tugged free his blade, and split the vachine's head clean in two showing a cross-section of skull and brain – closely meshed with fine gold wire and tiny, micro-clockwork. The head peeled in two, like fruit-halves, and Vashell heard the sounds and turned fast – but Llaran had gone. Fled, into the snow.

  Alloria was standing, hands before her, panting hard. Vashell leapt to the fire, and using the tip of his sword flicked Fiddion's head from the flames. It was a blackened, crisped ball, a globe of stinking fried pork and fat ran from orifices, and steam rose from the cooling, over-cooked meat.

  "Hell," hissed Vashell, his vachine blood-fury still raised as his eyes narrowed, and he contemplated following Llaran into the snow. To be betrayed by his own brother! He could not understand it. But then he thought about it, and he could. Vashell was no longer beautiful vachine; and he had lost his fangs and claws, that which made him holy, that which endeared him to Engineers and Watchmakers alike. If they had taken him back to Silva Valley, he would have been executed as
impure. Burned, like a common criminal. Quartered, like a captured Blacklipper. Vashell spat into the fire. "Bastards." Now, he could never go home, and that burned worse than any loss of face.

  "Listen… to… me…" croaked Fiddion.

  Vashell moved to the cooling head, and knelt. He reached out, touched the scorched flesh. He shook his head. "I cannot believe it. You tough little bastard. Can you hear me, Fiddion?"

  "Listen carefully. Vashell. The Vampire… the Warlords, they will return. Kradek-ka and Graal, they will make it so. A… summoning. They will…" He coughed, then, and a tiny raw pink tongue darted against scorched, blackened lips. "They will take Anukis. To Skaringa Dak. Helltop. To sit on the Granite Thrones. She has the Soul Gem, you see? You must stop this." He coughed – or at least choked – again, ejecting a long thick black stream of gore. "Help Anukis," said the Harvester. "Help the vachine race."

  "You don't know what you ask," said Vashell, eyes full of tears which stung his tortured face. "She has taken everything from me; my fangs, my claws, my vachine life. She took my pride and my dignity – stripped me of everything and left me as outcast! Even if I saved Silva Valley, saved the entire vachine civilisation – they would still turn on me and execute. Don't you understand?"

  "That is why you must help," said Fiddion, quietly. "Now put me back on the fire. None, none must know my secrets."

  Vashell obeyed, placing the Harvester's crisped, smouldering head back into the flames. The fire roared for a moment, bright green flames soaring to scorch the roof of the cave. Then the head burnt fiercely; in minutes it was nothing more than an outline of ash, which crumbled, vanishing into glowing embers.

  Alloria was there. She placed a hand on Vashell. He looked at her.

  "What will you do?" she said.

  He glanced back at the vachine corpses, their bloodoil staining rock and ice. Then he stood, and shook free the queen's grip. He lifted his short black sword and examined the blade. Then he bared his teeth, where once his vampire fangs had sat.