Soul Stealers: The Clockwork Vampire Chronicles (25 page)

They emerged into the courtyard before the twisted, disjointed, deformed keep. Behind them, the tunnel was dark as the void, sour as a corpse. Saark breathed cool ice air, and thanked the gods he was alive – and not just alive, but with his
affliction
still his own.

    Kell was panting, and they looked up at the sky in wonder. Hours had passed, and strange coloured starlight rimed the frozen mountains and peaks.

    "Grandad!" screamed Nienna, and sprinted across ice-slick cobbles from the doorway of a small, stone building. She leapt at him, wrapping herself around the old warrior and he hugged her, buried his face in her hair and inhaled her scent and welcomed her warmth, and her love, for without Nienna, Kell was a bad man, a weak man, a lesser man; a dilution. With her, he was whole again. Filled with honour, and love, and an understanding of what made life and the world so good.

    Kell dropped Nienna to the cobbles, and she half turned as Myriam appeared at the doorway. Myriam gave Kell a curt nod, eyes bright, head high, proud and wary and strong despite the cancer eating through her. She gave a smile, but it was an enigmatic smile and Kell could not read her intent. She looked past Kell, to Saark, and he saw her eyes glow a little.

    "How are you feeling, dandy man?"

    "Better now your knife is no longer in my guts. But be warned, Myriam, your time on this planet is finite. You made an enemy of me for life; one day, I will slit your throat."

    "But not now?" She moved forward, still athletic despite her gauntness. "Why not, Saark? What's stopping you? The poison which eats Kell even as we speak?"

    "Enough!" bellowed Kell, and stomped forward, loosening Ilanna and swinging the great axe wide. For a moment only fear shone like bright dark flames in Myriam's eyes, then she shook her head and strode forward to meet him. If nothing else, she had spirit, and courage enough to match her cunning and evil.

    Myriam halted before Kell, and looked into the huge warrior's eyes. She was tall, and proud, and she matched Kell for height. "Do you want to live, Kell, or do you want to die?"

    "I don't die easy," he growled.

    "You never answered the question."

    "Where's the antidote?"

    "Close by. However, I have another insurance policy I need to show you; otherwise, what's to stop you cutting me in half with that huge axe? Ilanna, she's called, isn't she?" Myriam smiled, then, and Kell did not like the smile. There was knowledge there, but more. There was an intimacy.

    "You are playing games," said Kell. He glanced over to Nienna. "Did this woman hurt you, girl?"

    "No, grandfather. And much as I hate to say it, she saved my life. Styx wanted to rape me, and kill me. Myriam murdered him. Jex left."

    Kell nodded, and leaned in close to Myriam, aware her hand was on her sword hilt but knowing, as he had always known, that he could cut her in two before she cleared weapon from scabbard. "You play a dangerous game," he said, threat inherent in his tone.

    "Yes. The game of life and death. And I choose life. And so should you. Don't be a hero, Kell. Don't be a jangling, bell-adorned capering village idiot."

    "I say kill her," said Saark, and he moved closer, his slender rapier drawn. There was a quiet, dormant rage bubbling beneath the surface of his foppishness. "If we let her live, she'll stab us in the back. Again. And this place isn't so big; we can find the antidote to the poison."

    "Stab you in the back?" laughed Myriam. She focused

    on Saark. "I'd save that pleasure only for you, my sweet." She smiled, easily.

    Saark growled. Kell held up a hand. "Enough." He focused on Myriam. "You have bought a truce for now. I will take you through the mountains. But the poison is seeping through my system. If I do not have the cure soon, I will be useless. And the Black Pike Mountains is no place where a warrior should be useless."

    "I will give it to you – soon," breathed Myriam, calmer now that imminent threat was gone. But she knew; Kell was like a caged lion, one moment passive, submissive even, the next a raging feral beast. "But first, you must see this." She lifted her hand, then, and turned it so her palm faced upwards. Across her skin danced a tiny flame, and the flame grew until it was an inferno of silver flames all contained on the palm of her hand. The flames twisted and curled, and then formed themselves into a vision. In the tiny, glittering scene Kell stood on a high mountain pass, with Nienna behind him, cowering against frozen rocks. Saark was nowhere to be seen. Huge beasts loped forward, their fur white, their fangs terrible. They were snow lions, there were three of them, and they were mighty, their fur bright white, three males with bushy manes and yellow eyes. Kell roared and charged the snow lions, and claws smashed aside his axe. In the scene, the third lion circled Kell, leaping nimbly up the rocks and then dropping down before Nienna. She screamed, her scream tiny and a million miles away. The lion grinned, and lunged for her, but Myriam rushed past, her sword sticking into the lion and making it rear, blood gushing from a savage throat-wound and spraying bright crimson against snow and fur. The lion stumbled back, and went over the cliffs – and in the tiny vision, Myriam took Nienna in her arms and cuddled the terrified girl.

    Slowly, the image faded, and Myriam closed her hand.

    "You are a magicker!" gasped Saark, taking several steps back. "A witch!"

    "Nothing so dramatic," snapped Myriam, scowling. "But I have certain prophetic skills. I may not be able to use magick for pain and destruction, as some can and do; but I see things. This was my vision. And yours, too."

    "Clever," said Kell, face dark.

    "If you kill me, then the lion kills Nienna." Myriam tilted her head. "You see how the puzzle pieces are coming together? To make a whole?"

    "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
?"