Blood-oil was not enough.
Graal needed the souls of the clockwork vampires.
Thousands of clockwork vampires.
But how could he do it? None of the Old Texts spoke of the Ritual of Bringing, or the Summoning. And pages had been savagely cut from the Oak Testament, so it was said, by the First High Episcopate Engineer in order to stop evil filling the world. The pages had been burned. It was the only way.
So how did Graal know?
You bastard, thought Vashell. You would sacrifice our people.
You would sacrifice the entire vachine civilisation! And for what?
To rule beneath the Vampire Warlords? But understanding eased into Vashell's mind, then; a deep and intuitive understanding. No. Graal was too arrogant. Too power hungry. He would seek to rule the Vampire Warlords. To control them. Not to become one of them, but to be their Master.
'You are insane,' Vashell whispered. And he knew what he had to do. He had to stop them. When the Soul Gems were presented to the Granite Thrones, he had to stop them – to kill the carriers. Or at the very least, to kill the Soul Stealers. For only with the Soul Stealers could the Soul Gems be extracted and used for the Summoning. So it was written in the Oak Testament.
Vashell watched, as something tied tight with golden wire was dragged onto the platform. It had black, corrugated skin and was making feeble mewling noises. It was big, and powerful, but – impossibly – subdued. Vashell felt sorrow. And he felt pride. He felt guilt. And he felt an incredible compression of the mind. He had always loved the vachine. He had been a prince of the Vachine Empire, and yes, since his impurity at the hands of Anukis he was outcast and could never return to the place he loved; the place which folded neatly around his heart and soul like a fist. But he could do something. He must do something. He was the only one who could.
He stared, through tears, at the mewling creature. And blinked as he recognised, there beside the gleaming chitinous monster, Anukis. Sweet Anukis! And the puzzle pieces fell into place. Anukis carried a Soul Gem. That was why Kradek-ka made her so special, so advanced, and used his technically brilliant vachine engineering to keep her alive; to create a prime. That was why he allowed vachine society to turn against her, so that when this time came, when the need to sacrifice so many of Silva Valley came, then Anukis -
Vashell went cold.
Anukis would be ready, he thought.
Ready to kill. Ready to murder.
Ready to sacrifice…
Vashell realised with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that the whole thing had been a game, a clever strategy, instigated and plotted by General Graal and Kradek-ka in order to bring back the Vampire Warlords. They had planned, and plotted, and hijacked the Blood Refineries, necessitating orders from the vachine to invade Falanor in search of new fresh blood-oil… when in reality what they did was gather raw materials to allow the rebirth of the Vampire Warlords.
Thousands of humans. Thousands of vachine.
All dead, and about to die, just so the Three could walk again!
He would stop them. He would halt their plans.
Vashell reached for his bow, and with freezing fingers notched a deadly arrow to the string. He turned and peered back over the ridge. Who to kill? Who was the most effective target? If he only had one shot? Kradek-ka? Anukis? Sweet Anukis… tears stung his eyes, and he brushed them away. Or Graal. If Graal was dead, surely they could not continue?
Vashell heard the tiniest of sounds, like metal claws on rock, and he turned, and went terribly cold.
Two women stood, almost nonchalant in their easy posture. Their fangs gleamed, and their claws gleamed, and one had long white hair tied back into tails, and one had short hair spiked by the blizzard. They carried swords. They were smiling.
'What on earth,' said one, tilting her head so as to accentuate the beautiful curve of her face, 'are you doing up there?'
Vashell moved fast, bow smashing round, shaft releasing like a striking cobra.
There was a snarl, a slam, and a tearing of flesh.
Alloria whimpered, and backed away through the snow.
The Soul Stealers ignored her as they briefly fed.
Now, weaponless and bound, a squad of ten from the Army of Iron marched Kell, Saark and Nienna without relent through the underground tunnels of Skaringa Dak. Their commander, tall and arrogant, was an albino named Spilada, and he led the way – in fact, seemed the only one in the group to know the way. They marched all day, sweat pouring down faces, muscles burning and screaming during internal tunnel ascents, many of which were scrambles, extremely dangerous scrambles when hands were tied tightly before them. At one point Nienna slipped, stumbled, and began to slide down a long slope of scree towards a gaping black chasm. One of the soldiers grabbed her by the scruff, hauling her whimpering body away from a sheer, vast, underworld crevasse.
Kell turned to Spilada. He smiled, a warm and amiable smile, only the fury raging in his eyes telling a different primal story. 'Anything happens to the girl, and I'll eat your fucking eyes out,' growled the old man.
'And receive ten swords in your back,' came Spilada's terse response.
'Yes,' grinned Kell. 'But you'll have no face, and eyeballs dancing on your open cheekbones.'
'Shut up. And walk.'
'Whatever you say,' growled Kell, and with a nod and courage-building smile to Nienna, started up the scree slope.
At the top they stopped for a short rest on a ledge of black rock. Below, the scree slope led off to a massive drop which fell away into echoing blackness. The air was strange, at some times freezing cold making the group shiver, at others bearing wafts of raging hot air which brought them out in streams of sweat. Kell and Saark were kept seated apart, but Nienna was allowed to sit near Saark.
'How you doing, girl?' grinned Saark after he had regained his breath.
'That was incredibly hard,' she said.
'Yes, we're not mountain climbers, right?'
'No.' There came an awkward pause. Around them, the white-skinned soldiers sorted out their kit, all the while keeping a close eye on the prisoners. Kell sat to the left, legs dangling off a small drop, face calm but eyes murderous. They could sense his violence from a league away. 'What's going to happen, Saark? I'm frightened.'
'I don't know, Little One,' he soothed. 'What I do know is that it was a mistake coming here. Kell thinks he can take on the world; yet now, here, he's just a broken, captured old man.'
'He's still Kell,' said Nienna, voice soft, pride and belief shining in her eyes. 'He is The Legend. He slew Dake the Axeman. He was the Hero of Jangir Field. He turned the tide at the Battle of Black Beach, carrying Dake's head back to the King. He was at the Battle of Valantrium Moor. He's a hero, Saark. He cannot be beaten!'
'He is still a man,' said Saark, gently, thinking of the other side of Kell, the dark side of Kell, the murder in his eyes, the murder in his axe, and ultimately, his part in the Days of Blood. Unreported massacres. Cannibalism. Torture. The rape of the dead…
'He's more than just a man,' said Nienna, hope in her breast. 'He is Kell.'
Saark nodded, not willing to remove her spark, her hope, but staring around at the ten warriors with a sense of painful reality. He smiled, still thinking of these soldiers as albino. But they were not. They were… Saark shivered. Shrugged. He had no idea what they were. Part insect? They were shells, he realised. Something else, something old, living inside a human shell.
Kell stood, and stretched, back still to the soldiers. He turned, and two looked up from honing swords, watching him closely. He smiled in a friendly fashion, and moved over to them. 'I need a piss,' he said.
'Over there,' gestured a soldier, with a nod.
'And how do I get my cock out? You've tied me tighter than a fishmonger's purse strings.'
'You'll not be untied, old man.'
'Better come and hold it for me, then.'
'No. I have a better idea.' The soldier smiled, a wax, fake smile. 'Just piss in your pants. You old warriors all stink of piss anyways; it's said you make incontinence pads out of leaves in the forest, but I don't believe it myself. I
