Steel, Blood & Fire (Immortal Treachery Book 1)

by Allan Batchelder

  “It wouldn’t be permanent.”

  “So says the spook.” Vykers scoffed. “You might be like the plague, not to be shook off for love or money.”

  “I understand your skepticism. But I’m offering to restore your hands and feet in return.”

  Vykers fell silent and turned away.

  Arune waited.

  “You wouldn’t think you’d miss being able to wipe your own ass.” Vykers finally said. “Destroyer of legions, brought low by his own stench.” He paused. “Fine, then. How do we do this?”

  “Take my skull,” Arune answered, “and throw it into the fire.”

  Vykers laughed. “Well, there’s one wish granted.”

  He ambled over to the ledge, pinned the skull between his wrists and swung it towards the fire, letting it fall into the flames. “You’re one o’ the Burning now, in truth.” Almost immediately, he was overcome with a lassitude, a strange fuzziness of thought. The more he fought it, the worse it became, until he simply collapsed on his side in the dirt, writhing helplessly like a turtle on its back. Eventually, fatigue overcame him and he drifted into a fitful sleep.

  *****

  Later, he bolted upright in a panic. His head hurt. His vision was blurry. And his joints creaked. He felt hung over, was the problem. Terribly hung over. And he still had no hands or feet.

  “Burner! Where the fuck are you?”

  Without warning, he doubled over and vomited in the dirt.

  “I know how you feel.” Arune muttered in his mind. “Actually, I feel how you feel.”

  “Can’t you make this experience a little less…shitty?”

  “I’m trying. Believe me. Whatever fairytales you may’ve heard, this kind of thing isn’t easy.”

  Vykers grunted.

  “I’m trying to work with your body, and it’s trying to throw me out.”

  “Can’t say as I blame it.”

  “And I thought you were immune to a little misery.”

  *****

  He’d had a sort of mentor when he was starting out, an old veteran by the name of Tewkes -- but everyone called him “Hobnail,” on account of he was always threatening to plant his hobnails in someone’s ass. “Tarmun,” he’d say “kill their spirits, and their bodies’ll follow hard after.”

  Vykers killed ‘em, alright. By the hundreds of thousands. He spread corpses like fertilizer across the North, until the land was more lush and green than any time since Creation, itself.

  Despite his injuries, his own spirit was very much alive and, even in a magic-induced fever dream, Vykers yearned to get back onto the battlefield.

  *****

  Long & Company, On the Road

  In the absence of a consistent work force to maintain it, the road to Farnsley had become overgrown in places. In others, holes that ought to have been filled had simply gotten worse. It would have been slow-going under the best of conditions, but with the motley assortment of mounts the gang had been able to assemble, the mere three days’ journey was likely impossible.

  “A goat, Nessno?” Long sniped. “Mahnus save me. Who rides a goat?”

  “Well…it’s a big goat.” Spirk answered.

  “And that makes two of ya.”

  “Take it easy on the boy,” Short said. “If nothing else, we can eat the damned thing if food gets scarce.”

  “And you!” Long shouted.

  “Now don’t start in on my ram!”

  “It’s a sheep. A bleedin’ sheep!”

  “Ram! It’s a ram. Classic war mount of the Southern Dranavians.”

  “Damned scrawny for a ram, ain’t it? And where’s his horns?”

  “Yeah, and why don’t we eat him instead ‘o my goat? I like me some good mutton.”

  “I am surrounded by idiots!” Long muttered.

  “Look, Long, this here ram’s only got to carry but half of me, and it’s all I could afford. Anyway, it’s a lot further fall from the back of a horse.”

  “And you wouldn’t be riding one, neither, if it weren’t for me!” Janks cut in.

  “Yeah, thanks. You stole me a horse. Or at least she was a horse once upon a time. If you’ve got to risk the stocks, couldn’t you have found something a little less ready for the knackers? Or did you choose this old nag to humiliate me?”

  “I am hurt, Long.”

  “Morally hurt.” Spirk added.

  “Mortally hurt.” Long corrected.

  “That, too” said Spirk.

  Long sat back in his saddle and surveyed the crew: Short Pete, the half-man, strapped to the back of a boney sheep; Spirk Nessno, standing – actually standing – astride a wall-eyed goat; Janks, sitting smugly on the back of a filthy draft horse and, of course, the old Burner, half asleep on the back of his donkey. It was as ridiculous and inauspicious a beginning as Long could imagine, but he figured perhaps – perhaps – they could purchase or steal better mounts later. He looked glumly at the road ahead and back at his friends. What in all hells was he doing?

  “Whenever you’re ready, ‘boss,’ we’ll move out” he called over to Short Pete.

  *****

  It had been a long and tedious day without much progress. Farnsley seemed as far away as ever, but the campfire warmed the group’s spirits and loosened their tongues. All except D’Kem, and Long found that especially irritating. The Burner slumped against a log and stared sleepily into the fire.

  “Look here, Dickum. Are you a member of this expedition or ain’t ya?”

  The Burner rubbed his stubbled chin and lifted his bloodshot eyes to Long Pete. “I am here.” He said, as if that explained everything.

  “Oh,” Long replied with melodramatic surprise, “are ya, indeed? And how would we know that?”

  Janks cut in, as expected. “There’s naught for him to do, yet, Long, except follow the road with the rest of us.”

  “Why doesn’t he talk with the rest of us?

  “Maybe he’s got nothing to say.”

  “Or too much.” Spirk added blithely, causing D’Kem to glance over at him with an appraising eye.

  “Too much? That’s rich. I bet he doesn’t know shit!” Long spat in the dust. “And you, Nessno! Ya spent more time walking beside that mangy goat than riding it. You’re slowing us all down.”

  “Feffles don’t like to work so hard!” Spirk answered, defensively.

  “Feffles?”

  “That’s his name.” Spirk said.

  “Feffles. Boil me in tallow. Fuckin’ Feffles.”

  “Why are you so ornery tonight, Long?” Janks asked. “We made us some miles today, got a nice fire going, the stars are out and we got food.”

  “Well said, Janks, well said!” Short cheered.

  “Ooh, high praise, coming from the sheep rider!” Long retorted.

  “It’s a ram! Gods, Long, why don’t you go take a piss or something? You’re souring the whole ambiance!”

  “Amb…what?” Spirk said.

  “It means ‘stew,” Janks whispered to him.

  “Oh!” Spirk responded, “I think the amby yawns is delicious!”

  Long looked over at him with a jaundiced eye. “Yeah, I think I will go for a walk” he said, as he wrapped his cloak tighter about himself and wandered off into a nearby thicket.

  This was a right balls-up, and no two ways about it, far as Long could see. Back in the day, a team like this would’ve had ten-to-twelve strong-armed and savvy veterans. They’d each have had specialized equipment – the best that money could buy or cunning could steal. They’d have had horses. Real ones. They’d have had a goal and a plan to carry it out. None of this bullshit charging off with your prick still hanging out. And it rankled him mightily that Short had seized command and done virtually nothing with it. Command weren’t no popularity contest. It was all about –

  Long heard a dull grunt followed by a high shriek, back towards camp. He wheeled about and saw dark figures struggling in silhouette before the fire. Drawing his short sword, Long ran in their direction. As
he got near, he could see Short down in the dirt, while Janks and Spirk each struggled with separate arms of a single attacker. A second man held a knife at D'kem’s throat and was shaking him violently. Long bellowed in what he hoped was a terrifying manner and threw himself at the back of the already besieged attacker, leaving D’Kem to his own devices. With three men climbing all over him, pulling him to and fro, the first assailant toppled sideways into the fire, where he landed with a scream of alarm. Fire was working its mischief elsewhere, as well, as the second assailant’s beard burst into flames that quickly enveloped his head. Soon, both attackers were screaming in earnest. In a moment, they managed to right themselves and scramble off into the dark, fanning the flames as they went.

  Long took a deep breath and resheathed his sword. He did a quick survey of his companions. Janks and Nessno seemed okay, if rattled. D’Kem had slumped back down against the log, and Short was still lying on his side.

  “Planning to sleep through all our scrapes, are ya?” Long asked him, sardonically.

  Short didn’t respond.

  “Hey, Short, they put a scare into you?” But as Long approached, he could see that his friend was dead. There was a bloody, jagged hole at the base of his neck on the left side, between the clavicle and shoulder blade, as if one of the attackers had come up behind him and…

  Long sank to his knees, lowered his forehead ‘til it touched Short’s cheek.

  “Long Pete?” Spirk ventured.

  “Fuck off.” Long replied.

  “Now hold on, Long.” Janks objected, “He was our mate, too.”

  Long wasn’t interested. “He died for nothing, you stupid shit! For nothing! All this farting about in the woods at night, that’s child’s play! That’s wooden swords and unicorns and mountains of gold. It’s all crap!”

  “It ain’t crap. Short believed in it, too.”

  Long rolled onto his back and watched the smoke rise into the night sky. “He was my oldest and dearest friend, was Short. And he died for nothing.”

  “He died how he wanted to die, Long. On the road, doing. Being. Not stuck back in town, a burden to his community. Short wanted this journey as bad as anyone.”

  “There’s few can choose the manner of their deaths” D’Kem croaked from across the fire.

  Long sat up. “Who the fuck asked you, old man? Where was all your wizarding when my friend was sent packing?”

  D’Kem fell silent again.

  “We go back.” Long said, after a lengthy pause.

  “That’s not what Short woulda wanted.” Janks answered.

  “Yeah, well, he’s dead. We ain’t…yet.”

  “We can’t go back, anyway, Long.” Janks breathed.

  “We can’t? Who says?”

  “I do. We can’t go back, because I stole from the town hall’s coffers to pay for this trip. We go back, they’ll put us all in the stocks, sure.”

  Long couldn’t remember ever having felt so old, so worthless.

  *****

  Vykers and Arune, In the Forest

  Vykers was furious. But his voice was cold, steady. “You’re a woman.”

  “I was,” Arune answered dryly. “Now, I’m a man.”

  “You knew if you’d told me, I’d have never agreed to this.”

  Arune laughed. “Oh, you would have, you would have. The offer was too sweet.”

  He felt a moment of panic, something like claustrophobia. “Where’s my hands and feet?”

  “I can’t repair them overnight. It’ll take a while.”

  Vykers brooded.

  “Don’t worry, though. It’s in my best interest to make you whole again, unless we want to spend eternity in this cave.”

  Another silence.

  “Ah. You’re worried I’ll make you weak, then, is that it? You think that because I was a woman, you’ll start collecting flowers?” Arune asked. “You don’t know women.”

  “I know…”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “You can read my thoughts, can you?”

  “Not yet,” Arune admitted. “You’ve let me into the castle, so to speak, but kept me out of the throne room.”

  “And how do I know I can trust you?”

  “Does it matter, at this point?”

  Again, Vykers was silent.

  “Look, I’ll share this with you: you don’t have to speak aloud to me. If you wish me to hear your thoughts, I will. That could work in our favor in any number of situations.”

  “For instance, it’ll save me looking like a babbling idiot wherever I go.”

  “Wherever we go.” Arune corrected.

  Vykers scowled and looked into the fire.

  *****

  Young Aoife and Anders, At Home

  And then came the day Aoife woke up to find her parents butchered and her brother casually eating a crust of bread near the fire. Emotions assailed her so heavily, the girl could not speak. Anders glanced at her as he might a fly that had landed on his arm.

  “I was going to do this eventually,” he explained in a flat voice. “I thought I might as well get it over with.”

  Aoife felt her heartbeat in every part of her body, in her fingertips, in her toes, in her eyes, and in her tongue. “And me?” she managed.

  “You?”Anders laughed. “You, I’m going to leave alive.”

  Every word was an effort. “But why?” Aoife asked.

  “Why what? Why did I kill our parents or why am I letting you live?” He shrugged. “The answer’s the same, I suppose: because I can. Because I’m going to keep doing this – killing – until you stop me.” His smile made her flesh crawl. “Do you think you can, sister? You think you’re up the challenge?” He tossed the remains of his meal into the fire, got to his feet. “Because I’m going to kill everyone and everything I meet until this world’s naught but a smoking ruin.” He paused. “What do you think about that, eh, sister?”

  She watched in silence as he threw a cloak over his shoulders, hefted a large sack he had hidden behind him and strode over to her. He bent towards her until their noses were nearly touching. His eyes were afire with dark, seductive energy and intent. Slowly, slowly he drew closer until his cold lips brushed lightly against hers. She felt his tongue snake into her mouth, and then she felt nothing at all.

  She had terrible dreams, nightmares beyond imagining or explanation, and when she awoke, she found herself in a pool of sweat in the middle of the floor. There was a dampness between her legs that she dared not investigate or even consider, for it suggested things too abhorrent to be borne.

  The bodies of her parents were as she’d seen them earlier – broken and blood-drenched, draped over their bed like filthy, discarded clothing. Aoife felt a hollowness in her gut that made her ill. She staggered outside for some air and was steeled by a cold rain on her face.

  Kill him? Kill him? Gladly…but how?

  *****

  Vykers and Arune, In the Forest

  “I would have thought self-pity was beneath you.”

  Vykers wouldn’t rise to the bait. Where’s the hands and feet you promised? He thought back at her. He felt her pause, sigh.

  You’re not going to like this, but what else is new? she responded.

  Let me guess, you lied about this, too, he sent, disgusted.

  No. Not entirely. And then she was silent.

  Another game. Okay, ‘not entirely.’ What, then? I’m to get rat’s feet? Hooves? What?

  They’ll be incorporeal.

  They’ll be what? What’s that mean?

  You’ll be able to use your hands and feet soon, just like always. But they’ll be invisible.

  Invisible? What the hell kind of bullshit is this? How the hell am I supposed to use a sword?

  You’ll figure it out. Or wear gloves. It’s the best I can do. I’m a Shaper, not a Mender. And you’d need one of the best to restore your hands and feet completely.

  “Is there no fucking end to this nightmare?” Vykers roared aloud.

&nb
sp; Take what I’ve offered, and you can walk out of this cave by dawn tomorrow. Arune suggested. What is it with you men, anyway? When you’re down to one choice, you always love to pretend you have a choice.

  Fine! Vykers replied petulantly. Gimme the ghosty parts.