movement and as Kell arose in a blur of action Saark had turned to him, and Kell slashed his bonds, in the same movement his arm snapping back and launching the blade which embedded to the hilt in Spilada's eye. The soldier screamed, grappling at his face and Kell leapt down the bridge, fist slamming one man to break his cheekbone and send him rolling, to topple from the span. Another drew his sword but as it left the scabbard Kell was in close, headbutting the man and taking the weapon neatly. A back-handed swipe cut his head from his shoulders, the short blade rammed through another's man's chest to the hilt, and Kell tossed the soldier's blade to Saark who leapt to Kell's aid. They cut their way through three men in as many seconds, leaving the kneeling figure of Spilada behind them on the bridge. The clash of steel on steel echoed through the vast cavern. Nienna, shocked by the sudden violence, the acceleration of battle, blinked, then stared at the kneeling figure of Spilada. He held the hilt of the small knife, gently, as if readying himself to pull it from his eye-socket. With a growl, Nienna leapt forward and slammed the heel of her hand against the hilt of the blade, driving it deep, through Spilada's socket and into the brain within. Spilada slumped back, legs kicking, and Nienna dropped to her knees and was sick on the bridge.
Saark battled the remaining soldiers, and Kell dropped to one knee, opening the sack in the hands of the dead soldier. Slowly, reverently, he drew out Ilanna. She squirmed in his hands, her haft almost like skin to the touch, and Kell stood and his eyes were fire and his mouth was a grim line. 'Saark, step back,' he said.
Saark stopped, and backed away. Kell strode forward, rolling his shoulders.
The enemies stared at him, and their eyes moved to the axe. So, thought Kell, they know her. 'Come on,' he said, voice little more than a whisper of mountain breeze.
The remaining soldiers turned and fled, dropping their swords, sprinting along the bridge and disappearing into the black.
The wind howled, increasing in fury. Kell turned back to Saark, and Nienna, and the figure of Myriam who had not moved during the battle. However, she had not drawn an arrow to aid them. Kell scowled, and strode forward, with Saark joining him.
He stopped short of Myriam. He placed Ilanna against the stone of the bridge with a dull iron clank.
'You're looking well, lass,' he said, calm, meeting her gaze which now shone with good health and bright vitality. Myriam laughed, the tinkling of a summer brook over marble pebbles.
'You can see what happened,' she said, and as she spoke they could spy her tiny vachine fangs. Her nose twitched. Nienna came to stand behind Kell and Saark, peeping at Myriam, face confused.
Myriam made eye contact. 'Nienna.' She smiled, face radiant. 'It feels wonderful, Nienna… truly, I am whole again, truly, I am at the peak of my physical prowess!'
'Step aside,' sighed Kell. 'I can see you're not here to help, and I have not the will to fight you.'
'What?' mocked Myriam, suddenly. 'The great Vachine Hunter, not willing to fight the terrible, evil vachine which stands before him? I thought you were Kell? I thought you were a Legend?'
'What do you want?' said Saark, voice soft.
'Ahh, the suckling vachine speaks!'
' What? ' snapped Saark, face pale, etched with worry.
Myriam looked past Saark, to Kell, meeting his iron gaze. 'He didn't tell you? The dandy didn't share his great secret? Back in the town, he was bitten, Kell. I can smell it! He's half-turned, but without the clockwork it's a slow and painful process.' She dropped her gaze back to Saark. 'Had any strange pains, boy? In your fingers? In your teeth? In your heart?'
'Shut up,' growled Saark.
'Or what?' grinned Myriam. 'You'll rip out my throat with your fangs? Go on Saark, show your friends your teeth. You can't hide it now, can you? Only the dark down here has been concealing your shame. But there's nothing to be ashamed of, Saark! Nothing, it's wonderful, it's a rebirth! Don't you feel your senses singing? Can't you hear the beat of the Mountain's Heart?'
'What do you want?' said Kell, voice level, refusing to look at Saark. Saark took a step away from Kell. Fear etched his features like moonlight.
'I am to escort you,' said Myriam, returning her gaze to Kell. 'I was to take you from the soldiers, but you had to have your little sport. Still. I said you would come quietly.' She winked, and her tongue licked her vachine fangs. Somewhere, almost unheard, there came the click of changing gears. 'For old time's sake.'
'Stand aside, Myriam,' said Kell, lowering his head and the rage of battle welled in him again and he was finding it harder to control, and he could hear the screams of the dying and the mutilated, the burned and the raped during the Days of Blood. And their blood ran in his mouth and down his throat, and he was eating their raw meat with the others, with the damned, with the possessed. That wasn't me, said Kell. But he knew different. And a hundred souls screamed from his past and pointed at him with cold dead fingers.
'No,' said Myriam, still making no move for her weapon.
'So be it,' said Kell, and hefted Ilanna – as a whoosh hissed through the air, and something unseen slammed past at incredible speed and Kell was knocked to the ground with stunning force. Kell was up, a blur of movement, blood on his mouth and eyes narrowed. He whirled on Nienna and Saark. 'Get back!' he screamed. 'Back along the bridge! They're here!'
'This is a place of blood-oil magick,' said Myriam, gently, and drew her own short sword. It was silver, and it glowed, just a hint, but enough to show it was no ordinary weapon of base metal. 'And the Soul Stealers are strong here, Kell, so strong… stronger than you could ever comprehend.'
Nienna and Saark were running, and Kell turned back to Myriam. His intention was obvious. Never leave an enemy behind; especially not one with a bow. Ilanna came up, black butterfly blades dull by comparison to Myriam's silver sword, but infinitely more threatening. He launched at Myriam, but she danced back, silver sword parrying the blow. Again, something whistled past Kell, so fast he did not see, and something fine and hard wrapped around his face. With Ilanna in one hand, he clawed at the substance, pulling at it but it wriggled, and he saw it was a fine gauge golden wire. More whistles and moans of wind surrounded him, and suddenly there was a flurry of activity as the Soul Stealers passed, their flight one of magick, and the gold wire wrapped around Kell's face and head and neck, and the wire was around his arms, pinning them against him and strapping Ilanna to him, and he fought and struggled, but they drew tight and he screamed as they cut through clothing, cut into his flesh, then they were squirming, moving, writhing as if they had a surreal intelligence, a form of metal life, and Kell's legs were tightened and he hit the bridge, watched the wire as it seemed to expand and grow and wind around him, and around him, until he could not move, could barely breathe, locked to his axe like a dark lover.
Kell watched, witnessed Saark and Nienna hit the bridge further along. There came light slaps as the Soul Stealers landed on the stone, vachine fangs bared, eyes crimson and burning. They moved close to Kell, and Tashmaniok knelt, and stroked his face and beard interwoven by gold wire, and she smiled, then turned back to Myriam who had sheathed her sword.
'Bring him,' she said, and in raw agony Kell passed into darkness.
CHAPTER 16
Warlords
Vor, capital city of Falanor, sat in silence, desolate, a ghost town. Fine snow whipped along the dead streets. Darkness bled into corners like leaking ink. Occasionally, lightning cracked the sky like a bad egg.
On a hill overlooking the city squatted the Blood Refineries. They were dark, brooding, terrible in their monstrous design and purpose. The wind hummed around the huge vachine-built edifices, as if conveying a lament for the slaughtered, the drained, and the desecrated.
Above this gentle storm of snow, there came a crackle of high electricity. Not lightning, but a web of incandescent fingers which trailed across the sky in bursts, illuminating the clouds, melting the snow, filling the sky with a lightshow of wonder and bestial primitive ferocity. The only audience were encamped soldiers from the Army of Iron left behind to guard the Blood Refineries, and they emerged from tents and shielded eyes, gazing up in wonder, heads tilting, mouths forming lines of compression… and of understanding.
'So it begins,' said one, his words a whisper in the storm.
More crackles leapt across the sky, this time blood red and turning the night into an electric storm of crimson.
