Steel, Blood & Fire (Immortal Treachery Book 1)

by Allan Batchelder

  *****

  Janks, the Queen’s Camp

  Major Bailis was pissed. He ranted and yelled at Janks for a full ten minutes before the corporal could make a word of sense out of it. Finally, the major took a series of long, deep breaths and stilled himself.

  “In essence,” he said, “You lost your C.O. and a full third of your squad chasing phantoms. That about it, Corporal?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I should bust you down for this, and I would, too, but…we’re gettin’ a might scarce on experienced officers. Ironic, wouldn’t you say? I should kick you, but because of the scarcity you’ve just exacerbated, I have to keep you.”

  Janks didn’t know what ‘exacerbated’ meant, but he could guess by context. And he did know enough to keep his mouth shut.

  “Look, we’re getting new recruits all the time. We’ll scrape something together this afternoon and find you a new sergeant. Seeing how you treat your friends, though, I’m going out of my way to find someone you won’t like.”

  Janks nodded.

  “You can take your mates and pitch over by the southern latrines. I want to make it clear you’re being punished.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Dismissed.”

  The corporal saluted and headed off towards his squad. Putting him near the latrines, that was funny, that. He wasn’t just near the shit, he knew, he was in it, now.

  Shortly before sundown, a hulk of a man in full mail approached from the direction of the nearest mess tent. The fellow was a hair over six feet, but more than half as wide, as well. To Janks, he looked like nothing so much as a poorly made statue of some forgotten hero, propped up in the town square of nowhere special. The stranger was a flesh-and-blood exaggeration.

  “Which wunna you fuck-buckets is Corporal Janks?”

  Bailis had been as good as his word: Janks hated the new man on sight. He stood up and greeted the stranger.

  “Corporal Esmun Janks, at your service, sir,” Janks said, saluting. The rest of his squad leapt to their feet, too.

  The hulk got right in Janks’ face. “I hear you got your last CO killed. That ain’t gonna happen with me, missy. I decide when you move, where you move, whether or not you sleep, eat or take a shit; I even decide how often you get to breathe. Got that, Corporal?”

  “Sir, yes sir. Beggin’ your pardon, sir…?”

  “What?” the other man bellowed.

  “Would it be okay to tell us your name and rank, sir?”

  The man ground his teeth for a moment. “Sergeant…Kittins.”

  Before Janks could even think of grinning, the sergeant had a hand at his throat. As expected, his grip was dismayingly powerful. “I’ve killed men for grinning at my name, missy. So, you wanna smile, smile. I hope it’s worth the slow, painful death I give ya.”

  Janks found he could not even nod in response. Eventually, Kittins let go.

  “Break down your campsite and find my pennant on the western perimeter. It’s a flaming boar against a red background. You’ll set up there and await further instructions.”

  “Yes, sir,” Janks wheezed. He had never missed Long so much in his life.

  *****

  Vykers, In Morden’s Cairn

  Nothing happened. Nothing that Vykers could see, anyway. He lifted the sword off the ground and held it before his face. It had a nice heft to it, felt fairly well balanced. The edge remained impressively sharp, which to Vykers was the surest sign of the blade’s magic. Who knew how long this thing had been lying under that stone? And yet, it seemed almost new-forged. Still, he’d expected to feel…something.

  Burn? He asked.

  And got no response.

  Hey, Shaper! Arune!

  Still, nothing. But he had his hands and feet, so she had to be there, somewhere. He tried a few cuts with the sword, while the Four looked on, curiously. “It’s a good sword,” he announced. “A good one. Worth the effort? Remains to be seen. Wasn’t much help to its previous owner,” he said, gesturing down at the ruined armor.

  After a few minutes, Vykers began to feel awkward, standing in one spot, hoping to hear from Arune. “I guess we’d best head back, then. Time to go dance with the enemy.” He nodded at the Four as he strode by and into the lead. He’d gotten what he came for; if the thing was as powerful as he’d been led to believe, he had no reason to avoid the vanguard.

  A strenuous climb and lengthy hike took the warrior and his escort back out of the chasm and through the ruined city. They saw occasional signs of movement, but it seemed, now that they possessed the sword, that the dead were uninterested in challenging their passage. At odd intervals, Vykers thought he heard a strange keening in the back of his mind, but whatever it was never responded to his inquiries. Eventually, he chose to ignore it.

  More walking brought the group to one of its previous campsites, which Vykers decided to make use of again.

  “Might as well rest here for a few hours,” he told the Four. “We can’t get out of here in a day, anyway, and there’s no sense in exhausting ourselves tryin’ to.” What he didn’t say was that he was increasingly agitated by Arune’s silence. She’d been with him, a part of him long enough now that he missed her when she didn’t speak for long periods of time. And this absence, he knew, coincided with his touching the sword for the first time. As uncomfortable as he’d been with the arrangement he’d reached with Arune, if it came to a choice between having her around or keeping the sword, he knew he’d be hard-pressed to decide. Arune had proven her worth; the sword? He’d seen nothing so far to indicate it had been worth the trouble of acquiring it.

  The Four didn’t talk much, and, at last, boredom set in and Vykers fell asleep on his side, cradling the sword in his arms as he slept. When he woke up, the chimeras were seated in roughly the same positions, although Vykers could clearly see one of them, Number 17, dozing.

  That was painful.

  Vykers became instantly alert and awake.

  Arune? He asked tentatively.

  You’re using my name, she observed. My real name. I take it you missed me?

  Missed you? Right. I get a boil on my ass once every few moons. I miss that when it’s gone, too.

  Some things aren’t meant for sharing, warrior.

  Not that I care, mind you. But where’ve you been, Burn? Vykers inquired.

  It’s the sword. The moment you picked it up, it grabbed me and took off. It was like…like riding a wild horse during an earthquake, if you can imagine.

  So, you’ve been – what? – wrestling with the sword all this time? Then, I guess you came out on top, huh?

  I wouldn’t say that, Arune cautioned. But we’ve reached a sort of agreement, if you will.

  Vykers coughed. Well, I’m glad you’re back with us. We’ve got some bloody business ahead of us.

  We have, Arune agreed solemnly.

  It is the way of things that return journeys often seem to take less time than the initial journey towards a destination. This wasn’t the case for Vykers, however, as he was keenly aware of the time being lost in travel, time he would rather have spent getting acquainted with his new host, his officers and their capabilities. When he and his Four finally emerged from the hole at Morden’s Cairn, he felt as though he’d been travelling in darkness for weeks. He was relieved and excited to be back in the open air. But something had changed, too. The scenery somehow appeared sharper, clearer to him. The scent of the earth and air practically assaulted him. He took a deep breath and felt like he’d inhaled an entire forest.

  It was almost night when Vykers and his chimeras climbed from the hole. He was sorely tempted to press on immediately, but he knew it made more sense to do a little hunting, have a real fire, take extra care of himself and his companions. They still had a ways to go before they returned to Ahklat, and he wanted to be ready for whatever came his way.

  “You boys feel like restin’ up a bit?” Vykers asked the Four.

  “We are very hungry,” Number 36 replied.
>
  “You n’ me, both,” Vykers said. “Why don’t I go see what I can scare up outta the bushes?”

  “Master,” Number 3 said, “you are a warrior without parallel, truly.” The creature composed his thoughts. “But we are…slightly…better hunters.”

  Vykers laughed. “Not slightly, Three. You’re much better. Go ahead and see what’s out there. I’ll start us a nice…”

  But Number 17, the spell caster of the group, had beaten him to that, as well.

  “Alright, then,” Vykers surrendered, “I’ll go find water. Any old fool can handle that job, right?”

  In short order, the group had a roaring fire going, over which Vykers was able to roast his choice of hare, raccoon, pheasant, quail or deer – the chimeras had been very thorough in their jobs. Whatever he chose to decline, the Four consumed raw and with their typical gusto. Since his companions were already aware of his strange, ethereal hands and feet, Vykers decided to pull of his boots and warm himself by the fire. When he discovered his feet and hands fully restored to him, he almost fell over backwards and down a small ravine. So excited was he, that he jumped to his feet and began howling and dancing an ale house jig he’d learned in his youth. “Yes! Yes!” and “I’m whole again!” he cried, over and over, to the alarm of the chimeras. Finally, tuckered out, he plopped back into the dirt near the fire, content to examine his hands like the face of a long-lost loved one, completely unaware that he’d also regained the tooth he’d lost shortly after his hands and feet.

  You don’t need to thank me, Arune said, once he’d quieted down.

  What? Oh, yes, er…thank you, thank you, thank you, Vykers responded.

  I said you don’t have to thank me; I didn’t do it.

  Vykers thought for a moment. So, the sword, then?

  Yes, the sword.

  When Vykers next spoke, there was awe in his voice. “I didn’t believe it, wouldn’t have believed it in a million years. There are enchanted swords. They’re real.” Looking over at his freakish comrades, though, it all began to make sense – the chimeras, sharing his body with a ghost, the walking dead, a magic sword. The Queen had mocked him for his know-it-all manner, when he clearly, clearly did not know it all. He’d been too proud in the past. One might think this revelation would embarrass Vykers, but, in fact, he was thrilled by it. There was so much more to the world than he’d imagined, so much more was possible than he’d experienced or attempted. A blind spot was vanishing, a weakness, disappearing. He’d be damned if this End-of-All-Things would catch him off guard.

  It took a while, because of his highly energized state, but Vykers finally fell asleep – a better, deeper sleep than he’d known in a long time. He was awakened by a light snowfall. The chimeras had kept the fire burning, but it failed to keep flakes from adhering to Vykers hair, brows and lengthy beard stubble. Still, he sat up feeling refreshed and excited about facing whatever lay ahead. Again, he examined his hands in disbelief. The many scars he’d earned in battle were gone, the calluses he’d developed from swinging a sword or axe, non-existent. He picked up a stone and began worrying it with his right hand and then his left. He didn’t mind the loss of scars, but he needed the calluses. He might find himself in some scrape, swinging his sword for hours. He needed those calluses.

  “You four ‘bout ready to hit the trail again?” he asked the chimeras.

  “Yes, master,” Number 3 said. The other three nodded in agreement.

  Vykers looked into the sky. He had no particular love for snow and hoped it would disappear as soon as they reached a lower altitude. How people lived in this shit, he had no idea. Gathering a few things and slinging his sword across his back, he kicked dirt into the fire until he’d buried it, took a last look around and started the long trek back to Ahklat.

  A few nights later, the group was again hunkered down around the camp fire when a disembodied voice called out of the woods, off the hillside and all around them. “Tarmun Vykers!” it crooned in a way that was both playful and sinister. “Tarmun Vykers! I know you’re out here somewhere!”

  <???>

  Say nothing, Arune warned.

  She should not have wasted her time. Vykers wasn’t a man to hide from threats. “Right here!” he yelled, getting to his feet and taking his sword in his hand.

  “Where? Oh! There you are!” said the voice, coming nearer. A huge, phantasmal head formed out of the mist and hovered and bobbed just outside the firelight.

  The Reaper taunted it. “Afraid ‘o fire, are ya?”

  The head moved into the light, but only barely. The size of a small cottage, it was boiling in dark vapors and strange, spectral lights. Only its eyes were clear, and they were a cold, lifeless blue.

  “Tarmun Vykers!” the head sighed with child-like pleasure. “The man who is meant to vanquish me!”

  “That’s the plan,” Vykers admitted.

  The apparition laughed. Vykers watched its eyes take him in and then scrutinize his companions, as well. “Charming little pets you’ve got there. What are they?”

  This time, Vykers laughed. “I’m afraid that’s – what do you call it – privileged information.”

  The eyes moved to Vykers’ sword. “A man with secrets,” the head said at last. “I’ve got a few myself, but I’ll give one away for free, Tarmun Vykers. I hear you’ve done miraculous things with a sword, so I’m sending one of my armies to kill you! Even if you survive, I will have learned something, will I not?”

  The smug self-satisfaction in the thing’s voice rankled Vykers’ nerves. “Just one army?” he asked as nonchalantly as possible. “I typically kill an army before breakfast!”

  “Indeed?” the head responded. “I shall look forward to seeing that, then.” With that, it vanished.

  I kill an army before breakfast? Arune griped.

  Seemed like the right thing to say to a giant, floating head.

  Look, Vykers, whatever spell he was using just then, I have never encountered before. That means our enemy is one powerful and deadly son-of-a-bitch.

  That makes two of us.

  Point taken.

  Number 17, not privy to Arune and Vykers’ conversation, offered his assessment, “The wizard who wields that magic is fearfully strong. That apparition was the result of multiple spells cast simultaneously.”

  Vykers regarded him. “Does he frighten you?”

  “I would be a fool not to be frightened.”

  “Good,” the Reaper said, “then you know what we’re up against.” Vykers sat back down.

  Number 3 spoke up. “What do you make of his threat to send an army after us?”

  “I’m sure he was telling the truth; he is said to be insane, after all.”

  “Forgive me,” the chimera said, “but you don’t seem especially concerned.”

  “I’m concerned,” Vykers corrected, “I’m concerned. But this is a test of some kind, and I mean to give our enemy reason for concern, too.”

  “What are your thoughts?” Number 36 asked.

  “We can’t make solid plans until we see the size of this army of his. We don’t even know what his military hierarchy is like, so when he says ‘army,’ that could mean anything between a couple hundred soldiers to several thousand.”

  I think I can help, there.

  How so?

  By using the same spell he used to find you, I suspect.

  One of the chimeras started to ask a question, and Vykers had to silence him for a moment, in order to complete his conversation with Arune.

  Gotta learn how to have two conversations at once, Vykers complained.

  I had a mentor once who could do it.

  Great. What’s this spell you spoke of and how do we use it?

  It’s called The Questing Eye. The more specifics you have, the better it works, the faster it finds what you’re looking for. The End-of-All-Things just gave us a ‘what’ – an army. And we know it’s somewhere between his host and here.

  His host is in the East.


  Exactly. I just have to search in a line between here and there. Something as big as an army shouldn’t take too long to find. Arune hesitated a moment. It would go faster if Number 17 and I worked in tandem. That, of course, would mean --

  “Okay, look,” Vykers said to the chimeras. “The truth is, there are two of me in this body, and one of ‘em’s a Shaper.”

  The Four did not seem terribly surprised.

  “And a strong one, at that. We saw what you did to the dead warriors in Morden’s Cairn,” Number 17 said.