obliterated in a moment. The arrow wound in her throat had bubbled, and slowly healed as she slept. Her pain had gone, all pain had gone, and she floated in a warm secure place not unlike a womb.
Her eyes opened. It was dark. They were in a small, warm cave. Shanna and Tash sat on rocks by the fire, watching her.
Slowly, Myriam sat up. She was wary. These were the enemy.
Then she looked down at her hands, and a thrill of fear and excitement flooded her. Her fingers ended in claws. She blinked. She reached up to her throat, remembering the savage arrow-wound which had, effectively, punched her from the summit of the ridge. The flesh was smooth, uninterrupted by wound or scar.
Then her hands moved to her teeth, and touched gently at the fangs there.
She looked at the Soul Stealers.
'You have made me vachine?' she said, softly.
Shanna nodded.
'You have removed the cancer from my body?'
Tash stood, and crossed to her. She held a shard of mirror, which Myriam took and stared into. She sank into that mirror, then, sank into the silvered glass as if being sucked down into a lake of beautiful mercury.
Myriam stared at her own face. Her flesh had filled out, and although she was pale, she was radiant with health. No longer did gaunt eye-sockets dominate her face with purple rings. Her eyes sparkled like fine-cut gems. When she smiled, her teeth were white and strong, not knuckle-dice wobbling in a corrupt jaw.
Myriam looked down at herself. Her clothing was battered and tattered and torn, as befitted somebody who had slid down the mountainside. But her hips were full, legs powerful, her fingers strong, the flesh filled out and defined by muscle.
'There is one more thing you must do,' said Tashmaniok, kneeling beside Myriam.
'Anything,' she wept, 'anything at all.'
'You must swear your soul to us,' she said, voice gentle. 'You must swear it by the blood-oil that flows in your veins, by the blood-oil that lubricates your clockwork.'
'I will swear with all my heart!' cried Myriam, and put her face in the palms of her hands as she thanked the vachine for giving her health, strength, and ultimately, her life.
'Good,' said Shanna, also leaning in close. 'Now, my little virgin vachine, we have a job for you.'
They walked through the darkness, down a narrow rock trail.
'This is insane,' said Saark, for the tenth time.
'Shut up,' growled Kell, for the tenth time.
'We'll break our bloody ankles, man!'
'What, so you'd wait here for those vampire bitches to hunt you down, would you?' snapped Kell. 'Stop being such a court jester, and get on with the job, lad.'
Saark shrugged, and moved on. In truth, the dark held no problem for him. Not now. Since Shanna bit him, his eyesight, and especially night vision, had increased tenfold. Now, the night was like a green-tinted summer's day. No longer would he have trouble falling over things drunk in the night. Now, there was no night.
However, despite increased strength and vision and stamina and healing, Saark was having other problems. Like the stench of blood. Here, and now, walking the mountain trails in snow and ice and whipping, freezing wind, he could smell Kell's blood more than anything. But Nienna's was also there, a more subtle, more gentle sweet fragrance; like the scent of roses, when compared to nettles. But with great force of will Saark was learning to master this weakness, or what he saw as a flaw in his new-found gift – or maybe curse? – and was able with great strength of mind to suppress the urges to extrude his still-growing vampire fangs and leap on Kell, devouring his throat and heart-blood.
The only problem had come when Kell killed the canker, lifting the beast up on the end of his axe and shaking it over his head, emptying its blood and bloodoil and guts over himself in a carnage orgy of gore. The sheer stench hit Saark like a wall, rolled over him like an explosion of rampant forest fire, and it was all he could do to hide his crazy rolling eyes, his extending claws, and not jump on Nienna's back and tear out her spine. In that moment, he wanted Nienna more than anything on earth, with a feeling of emotion and raw need greater than anything he had ever had to endure. Forget sex; sex was as rancid milk to thick clotted cream. This desire for blood, this urge this lust this mockery was more powerful than the sun and the moon. Brighter than the stars.
Nienna had turned, seen him advancing on her, and smiled weakly, meeting his crazed eyes. It was the smile that did it; broke the spell and caged the savage beast growing inside Saark. Without that connection of love and trust, he would have leapt on her and chewed out her soul.
Now, Saark fought himself.
He fought the new urges which drove him, using internal logic to battle the growing needs of a blossoming half-infected vampire. All he needed was clockwork integration to make him whole, and he would be a changed person, he realised. All he needed was a Watchmaker, and he would no longer be Saark. Saark would be dead. A stranger would stand in his shell. He would be corrupt. He would be lost.
'Damn it,' muttered Saark, clawing himself, a thrashing of internal turmoil.
'What's it now, dandy?' snapped Kell, turning and scowling. Saark could see him as clearly as in daylight. He could see the pulse of blood at Kell's throat. It made his mouth go dry with longing.
'These damn vachine,' snapped Saark irritably. 'Don't you just fucking hate them?'
'Every last one,' said Kell, turning back to the trail. 'They need exterminating like a nest of cockroaches.' He moved on, picking his way with care and helping Nienna when she needed help. Behind, Saark's eyes gleamed with malevolence.
They rested two hours before dawn, eating dried salted beef and rubbing warmth back into limbs bitten by cold. Saark had wandered off for toileting, and Kell sat close to Nienna, looking down into her eyes with concern.
'How are you, girl?'
'Frightened,' she said.
'We have to do this, you understand?' he said. She nodded. 'We have nowhere else to run. The bastards have taken over Falanor; we must fight the invasion at its root.'
'What will you do when we arrive?' she asked.
'I will find these Watchmakers, I will find those who control the Army of Iron, the people who rule Graal. First, I will ask. And when they snarl in superior arrogance, then, then I will fight, and I will take their top Watchmakers hostage, force them to withdraw their soldiers from our land.'
'Do you really think you can do this?'
Kell nodded. 'I'll give it my best damn shot,' he said.
'A fine plan,' said Saark, approaching from the path to the large ring of rocks where they were seated, 'with, I can see, only three major flaws.'
'You heard all that?' said Kell.
'Aye, I heard some.'
'What did you hear?'
'About finding the Watchmakers, holding them hostage, that sort of thing.'
'By God, lad, you've got some incredible hearing.'
'No, no,' said Saark slowly, 'I was on my way back.'
'You were all the way over there. Shitting behind that rock. I could smell you. You stink worse than any boy- lover's perfume.' Kell shook his head, frowning. 'And lad, you move quiet. Did you say you used to be a thief?'
Saark shrugged, and stroked his chin. 'Is it time to move?' he said. 'I have a feeling those Soul Stealer bitches are close on our trail.'
'Yes. Not far now,' said Kell.
'Not far from what?'
Kell stood, and stretched, and his mood visibly darkened. 'The Worm Caves,' he said. 'So don't get too comfortable, lad, because we have a lot of sneaking to do. The Worm Caves are no place for mortals. They ooze death.'
'You can't be serious,' said Saark, eyebrows rising. 'You mean the Va lentrio Caves? Shit. No, Kell. I've heard the tales, about the white worms which inhabit that place. In fact, they were from the same bloody bard who sang
