Steel, Blood & Fire (Immortal Treachery Book 1)

by Allan Batchelder

  In a mere few heartbeats, the bandit gang had gone from forty to thirty, and it didn’t appear their target had sustained even a single scratch. Some of the band began fading backwards into the forest, but a few were still game to try Vykers. Unfortunately, a few is not enough. They died before they even had time to regret the choice. Finally, as more and more of the band dissolved into the woods, Vykers stabbed his sword into a nearby corpse in frustration and yelled, “Well, I’m not going to go chasing after the sons-of-bitches!” He turned to the Five. “Go get ‘em. Just bring me their heads.” That was the first time he could ever remember seeing the Five smile. It was, he would later reflect, delightfully sinister.

  Smiling at the sounds of horrified screaming in the woods, Vykers set about stripping and staking the leader to the ground. If he was a right bastard, he was still a man of his word. When the leader awoke, he’d find himself, as promised, buried in bloody heads, appetizers to the entrée he was to become for some predator.

  You don’t call the Reaper a liar.

  *****

  Deda, On the Road

  Wims Deda had disguised himself as a caravan guard, quite common throughout the Kingdoms and unlikely to attract much attention. The three men he took with him were similarly disguised, though each wore different armor and carried his own weapons. Best not to look too organized or well-funded. Wims figured to take the trade road from Wareth to Lunessfor, but he was still over two weeks’ travel east of it. It was distances like this that kept great armies apart long enough to become great armies.

  Personally, Wims never cared for the East. Too grassy. Too wide open. If Anders wanted to incinerate the whole thing, it was just fine by him. No, Wims much preferred the Queen’s realm, or the far West. The South was tolerable, if a bit warmer than Wims liked. Sweating in armor all day, every day was something he could never come to appreciate, though others he’d known didn’t seem to mind it. If Wims lived or was meant to, he wanted perhaps a small island in the middle of a big freshwater lake. To his mind, freshwater fish tasted much better than the saltwater variety. And storms weren’t anywhere as bad on a lake. Plus, there were things in the ocean – or so he’d heard – that you simply did not fuck with. So, a lake it would be. If he survived. A lake and a score of women. Why not? He didn’t enjoy their insipid conversations, but they had other uses, and the prospect of an eventual son or three was not altogether unpleasant.

  His horse kicked a piece of loose shale, disturbing his daydreams. He looked around. The men who rode with him seemed equally lost in thought. Just so they stayed on their own damned islands.

  Wims thought for a moment about the massive and far-flung Deda Clan, of which he was not even the most famous, successful, powerful or wealthy. To be Deda had never meant much to him, not like it did to the rest of the Clan. But that might change if he outlived his master’s plans. For the thousandth time, he wondered what those plans really were. What kind of being intentionally destroys everything he encounters? Where are you supposed to live when you’re finished? How can you occupy your time? What pleasures will be left to indulge? His horse dropped dung behind him. Dung was more than Anders would leave behind, that was certain.

  Wims was ambivalent about his master, ambivalent about his mission, even ambivalent about his own life or death. But the great puzzle it represented fascinated him.

  *****

  Long & Company, the Army

  The worst part was, Long didn’t even remember screwing the giantess. What was the point in unusual sex if you couldn’t remember or talk about it? How had it gone? How had it even worked? Clearly, she hadn’t been on top, or he’d probably be dead. Did she enjoy his efforts? Did he enjoy hers? He was afraid there might be a repeat performance in the works, and Long didn’t know how to feel about it, other than to dread the inevitable ribbing he would again receive from his men.

  And he did have other, more serious, concerns, like getting Spirk Nessno ready for eventual combat. Those who could not dance at festival time were said to have two left feet. Those clumsy with their hands were said to be “all thumbs.” Spirk was all left feet, all thumbs and very little brain. After much consideration, Long decided to train the kid in mace. A sword was beyond his abilities, but a mace required less subtlety. The only remaining question was whether Spirk could handle a shield or should simply be armed with another mace. Sure, he’d look foolish, but at least he’d hit something – himself, most likely, but perhaps the occasional enemy, too. While Long was still grappling with this conundrum, Janks sidled up to him.

  “Hey-ho, giant killer!” he joked.

  Long sighed. He could either do what he’d always done – attempt to defeat this kind of nonsense with bluster – or he could play along and hope his lack of annoyance took the fun out of teasing him. “What can I do for you, Corporal?”

  “The basher ever tell you his name?” Janks asked.

  “I never asked.”

  “Good thing, too,” Janks said, “’cause it’s the longest damned name I ever heard. For a while, I thought he was singing.”

  “Well, I’m not gonna sing every time I need to address him. What do we call him for short?”

  “Fuck if I know. Let’s just call him ‘Bash.”

  “There’s one in every squad!”

  “That’s perfect, then, ain’t it?” Janks retorted.

  Long shivered. The days were getting shorter and colder. “We get any messages from the command tent today? Has Bailis come by?”

  “Nah,” Janks frowned. “Nothing. I hate waiting around, doin’ nothing.”

  “Would you rather be marching?” Long asked, raising an eyebrow at his old friend.

  “Did I ever tell you how much I love waiting?” Janks responded, with haste.

  “Need I remind you, Corporal? You’re the one wanted to get up and out of that little town. Now, you’re a verb.”

  Janks screwed up his face. “A what? A verb?”

  “Sure, a verb. You march, you wait, you sleep, you eat, you sleep, you fight, you drink, you screw…”

  “Speakin’ of which…” Janks cut in, “what’s it like?”

  “Oh, for Mahnus’ sake!” Long pulled his cap off and pushed his thinning hair back. He paused, then, sheepishly, said “I don’t remember.”

  Janks howled at that. “How in the world can ya forget something like that?” he cried.

  “I was drunk.”

  “Sorry excuse for a gigolo, you are!” Janks remarked.

  “Those days are past, Corporal, and I’ll thank you to remember that.”

  “You want me to remember your days as a gigolo?”

  “No, forget those.”

  “So,” Janks scratched his nose, “you want me to remember to forget those?”

  Long groaned in exasperation. “Look, don’t you have anything better to do? Supervise the latrines? Swindle some rube at dice? Have a wank in your tent?”

  “Be a lot easier if you’d just tell me what she looks like nekkid.”

  “Go and train the kid to the mace!” Long shouted and kicked his old chum in the seat of his pants to get him moving.

  *****

  The sergeant was just getting comfortable on his cot when Mardine tried to sneak in behind and snuggle with him. Long’s eyes shot open. This was a nightmare, despite his open eyes.

  “Er, Mardine…” he began.

  “Yes, sweetums?” she asked, in as close to a seductive voice as a middle-aged giantess can come.

  “Folks are beginning to talk around camp. Perhaps we’d better…”

  “No one will know,” Mardine interrupted. “No one will believe it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Long asked. Granted, he wanted this whole thing over with, but he also had his pride.

  “A big girl like me? A little fella like you…”

  “And where do you think I came by the nickname Long, eh?” Long snorted, indignantly.

  “Ooh! I thought it was on account of that long face you alway
s have.”

  “Oh, ha ha, private, ha and ha!” He wanted to be furious. He wanted her out. Who would have thought she’d have such nimble fingers?

  *****

  “Long!” a voice shouted in his ear. He sat up. He was on the floor. Next to Mardine. Janks was yelling at him. Perfect.

  “What? What is it, Corporal?”

  “You’re wanted in the command tent, soon as you can get there.” Janks rolled his eyes towards Mardine and back to the sergeant. He smirked.

  “You wanna get busted down to private, Corporal? I understand there’s nothing they won’t make a private do!” Long threatened.

  Janks saluted silently and withdrew.

  What a mess, what a mess, what a mess. Well, Long thought, only way out is forward. He got to his feet, scrounged around for the elements of a decent uniform, struggled into his clothing and stumbled off towards the command tent.

  What could it be? He wondered as he walked. We’re too far away to have sighted the enemy, and the Reaper’s not due for some time, yet. Had the news of the tryst with Mardine undone him already?

  Too soon, Long appeared before the command tent and was ushered in. Bailis was in the far corner, deep in conversation with a couple of higher-ups. When he saw Long come in, he saluted his comrades and made his way in the sergeant’s direction. Such was Long’s unease that Bailis’ march across the tent seemed to take an eternity and no time at all. Arriving, the man pulled his jacket taut beneath his belt and straightened his collar.

  “It’s funny. When you’re in armor, you can’t wait to get out of it, and when you’re in uniform, you can’t wait to get back into your armor.”

  “Yes, sir,” Long agreed, for want of anything else to say.

  “So, Sergeant. Short and sweet: we’ve reports…”

  Here it comes, here it comes, Long fretted.

  “Of small scouting parties from the enemy’s host making a few forays into our territory, to the northeast. We don’t mind them coming by, we just don’t want to them to leave.”

  Long felt like a man who’d just been spared the block, only to be put in line for the gallows.

  “Something wrong, Sergeant?”

  “Uh…no…I was just…I thought…”

  “Worried about your little assignation?”

  For a moment, Long couldn’t breathe.

  “Relax, Sergeant. Things don’t work that way any more. And besides, any man who can bed a giant, well…” Bailis started chuckling.

  “It was that bloody mead, sir!” Long whined.

  Bailis grinned like a madman. “I’m sure, I’m sure,” he chortled. “Usually has the opposite effect on me, but everyone’s different, I imagine.”

  Long stared miserably at his feet. “Yes, sir,” he said again.

  The major got right back to business. “Now, about these scouting parties,” he said. “We’d like you and your crew to intercept one. Seems likely you’ll have to do some fighting, if you run across anyone at all. Fighting, I say, but no killing. We want these scouts captured and questioned, here at camp.”

  “Captured and questioned,” Long repeated.

  “Correct.”

  “And, uh, how many men are in these scouting parties?” Long asked, beginning to get the feel of it.

  “Three-to-four, we hear. Not how I’d do it, but that’s another reason to C and Q them: get a little insight into their leaders’ thinking.”

  C and Q. Long liked that. He was going to have to use that when he got back to his squad. That kind of jargon made a man sound more experienced, more authoritative than he actually was. Right now, the illusion of command was about all he had going for him, especially after Mardine. Suddenly, Long realized he hadn’t been listening.

  “…Like you to set out by dinner. Head north, northeast. Don’t wander any further than ten miles beyond the pickets. If you see anything bigger than a scouting party, send your fastest rider back with news and the rest of you follow. Do not engage. Am I understood?” Bailis finished.

  “Do not engage a bigger party, yes, sir!” Long said.

  “Excellent. Good luck, then and dismissed.”

  Long saluted and fairly ran out the entrance and back to camp. He wasn’t surprised to see Janks waiting for his return, like a dog awaiting its master’s return from the hunt.

  “Well?” Janks prompted.

  “Just a little C and Q,” Long answered, smugly. “Nothing to worry about.”

  As Long had hoped, Janks was baffled. “C and Q?”

  “Yeah, you know,” Long said as nonchalantly as possible, “just a little C and Q.”

  Janks was in a bind, now. He had no idea what C and Q meant, but he couldn’t let on that he didn’t, or he’d lose face to his longtime friend and closest rival. He threw out his chin, stretched his arms and tried to appear bored by it all. “Yep, yep, the old C and Q. Q and C. First, comes the C and then the Q.” He looked at Long out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge how well his bluff was going. “Of course, some try to Q first and then C, but that’s just nonsense, ain’t it? Any thinkin’ man knows it’s Q first.”

  Long squinted at him.

  “I mean C! C comes first, o’ course. Any fool knows that. Hells, even Spirk knows that!”

  “I reckon so,” Long agreed, giving away as little as possible. If he could stretch this out just right, he might get a little payback for all the jokes he’d endured about Mardine.

  Janks was as wary as a kid about to smack a hornet’s nest. “So, er, how do they want it done – this particular time?” he asked.

  “Oh,” Long said, blithely, “the usual.” He smiled inwardly as he saw Janks’ expression cloud over. “Why don’t you take the lead on this one, Corporal?”

  “The lead?” Janks croaked, in a voice that suddenly climbed an octave.

  “Sure, you know, get the boys ready to perform their duty!”

  “Their duty…” Janks repeated, in slow motion.

  “Come on, man, don’t just stand there!” Long urged, “Let’s get to it!”

  Janks sleepwalked over to the rest of the unit and began rousting them. “Up and at ‘em, lads! Up and at ‘em!”

  “What’s going on?” Spirk asked in pitiful excitement.

  “It’s time to do your duty, o’ course!” Janks bellowed. “Up and at ‘em. Everybody into line!”

  And line up, they did: Rem, Spirk, D’Kem, the twins, Bash, Mardine and the A’Shea. Janks strutted up and down in front of them like a rooster.

  “Time to do our duty, yes, sir! And a mighty important duty it is, too – the kind of duty that can only be done by duty-doers doing their own, but also others. Duties, that is. A man who does his duty is a man worthy of respect, and this duty here, the one we’re about to embark on…” Janks boiled over. “Oh, Alheria’s tits, Long. I have no idea what in all hells I’m talking about!”

  Long stood by, smiling so hard it hurt. But he loved it. “You have no idea how many years I’ve waited to hear you say that!” he laughed.

  All the air rushed out of Janks. “You wanna tell us all what C and Q is?” he asked, sourly.

  “Well, squad,” Long said, “it seems we’ve been tasked with intercepting some of the enemy’s scouting parties –if we can. We run into anything bigger ‘n us, we’re to run back here as fast as our mounts will take us. The C stands for ‘Capture,’ and the Q stands for ‘Question.’ We do the first part and the higher-ups do the second. We’re to leave before dinner.” He looked at his squad. “We take only what we need for a night or two at a time and we don’t travel more than ten miles out. That’s it; that’s all.”

  Immediately, everyone began packing, saddling horses, checking and rechecking weapons. If everything went well, Long mused, they’d be right back in this very spot within a few days. If not, they might be attending a funeral. The important thing there was going as guests and not the departed.

  *****

  Aoife, In the Forest

  The light was the first thi
ng that alarmed her, though again, as always, she no sooner experienced the feeling than it was replaced by calmer, more soothing sensations. She’d been prepared for her water to break, for the rush of fluids. She had not been expecting an eerie glow to emanate from between her legs, nor the coils and clouds of low-lying fog that issued from her, either. Stranger still, the fog did not dissipate, but simply got thicker and thicker. She felt herself trembling down there, convulsing, stretching. She did not, however, feel pain. She became sleepy and began fading in and out of consciousness. She heard, or thought she heard, odd twitterings, ululations, giggling, even snatches of song here and there. It made absolutely no sense to her whatsoever. And yet, she had never been happier. Somehow, incredibly, she was pulsing with joy, with sheer and unadulterated euphoria. There was no better place she could ever be, nothing better she could ever do.