cut from his mighty, heroic shoulders.
Myriam shrugged. 'Yes. Two days, by my reckoning. Although I'm not sure what we'll do when we get there, the river is too fast to swim, although there are some albino storerooms nearby. Let's hope they're not full of soldiers, hey?'
'Makes no odds to me,' grunted Kell. 'One way or another, we'll be passing through.' He lifted Ilanna, and his meaning was obvious. Myriam did not miss the inherent threat.
'Let's move, then,' she said.
When they stopped for the night, it was warmer, and Myriam found some shards of crate for a fire. 'It'll be smelt for miles around,' muttered Kell unhelpfully, but did not stop her lighting it. They all needed heat. More. They needed the light and morale-boost of a good fire. There was something about the tunnels which invaded a person, chewed its way down into a person's internals… and sucked out their life and guts and soul. The tunnels, indeed, Skaringa Dak itself, was a huge tomb. Being inside the mountain was like being buried alive. Being inside the mountain was like being dead and buried.
Nienna found herself a quiet corner, and using a thin blanket given to her by Myriam, tried as best she could to make herself comfortable. Saark approached and knelt beside her, offering her a cup of water. 'Myriam found it, down yonder. A pool which doesn't taste of sulphur and shit. It's fresh. Try it!'
'Such small pleasures in life,' said Nienna, 'that we are reduced to this. Thankful and rejoicing for a simple taste of fresh water.'
'Yes, hardly beats the honeyed wine and whorehouses of Vor!' grinned Saark, then looked immediately contrite. He glanced at Kell. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I was forgetting your youth. And my big mouth.'
Nienna touched his arm. 'I'm not as young as you think,' she said.
Saark's eyes glittered. They were dark and entrancing, and Nienna gazed into their rich depths. 'Too young, my sweetness, I think,' he said with an easy, disarming, friendly smile. And under his breath, 'Far too dangerous.'
'I'm only a few months younger than Katrina,' pointed out Nienna. 'And her youth wasn't a problem for you.'
'Yes. And look how that ended!' snapped Saark, the smile falling from his face. He sighed, and rubbed at tired eyes. 'Sorry. Again. I'll not forget what that bastard Styx did. Such a waste. Such a sorrow.'
'Yes.' Saark pulled gently away from Nienna, and she lay under her blanket, looking at him. His hair was long and black and curled. Even without oils and perfume, he was a picture of masculine beauty. Well balanced. Perfectly formed. Yes, he had been through the wars, but recent travel, exercise and constant battle had simply enhanced his athleticism, making him even more of a naturally powerful warrior than when they'd first met. That, and the vachine enhancements… His skin now glowed. His eyes glittered like jewels. He was like… a god.
'I'm cold,' said Nienna.
Saark gave a long, lazy pause, eyes locked to hers. 'That's a shame. That's what it's like, down here in this wasteland.' He glanced to Kell again, then back to Nienna meaningfully. 'I, too, miss warm and cosy beds, and the easy living. Maybe one day, I'll be able to warm you. But not tonight, my precious.' And then he was gone, and Nienna could smell his natural perfume, and she bit her lips and rubbed her eyes and stared at her grandfather. Saark's fear of the old man was palpable. Nienna scrunched herself under her blanket, and tried to think pleasant thoughts. Instead, she dreamed of Bhu Vanesh, hunting her, hunting her through dark citadels… and nobody could hear her screams. Nobody could ever hear her screams…
For three days they journeyed through narrow, winding, underground tunnels. Sometimes they had to climb across savage vertical drops, and on several occasions they came to guard outposts: small wooden buildings, usually empty of everything except wooden cots without bedding. At least this meant they had firewood, and Kell broke up the cots and they burned them at night, as much for the comfort of living flames as for any real heat they produced.
On the fourth day, Kell stopped and tilted his head. Then looked to Saark. 'You hear it?'
'Yes. You have exquisite hearing for a human,' smiled Saark.
'Helps me to kill,' grunted Kell, and carried on.
'What can you hear?' asked Nienna.
'Water. A river.'
They continued for another hour, until the tunnel spat them out on a gentle rocky slope. It was littered with rubble, and a sloping shingle bank led gently into a wide, fast flowing and very deep underground torrent. Back by the tunnel entrance there was another guard outpost, which Kell approached warily, Ilanna ready in huge fists, and down along the shingle black moss grew, and black vines twisted and turned amongst the stones like narrow, skeletal fingers.
'I'm amazed anything grows down here,' said Nienna, crunching down to the water's edge.
'Don't go too close,' said Myriam, and placed her hand on Nienna's shoulder. 'To fall in, that would be to die. The cold and ice would chill you in minutes.'
Nienna twisted away from Myriam's grip. 'I don't need your advice. I'm not stupid.'
Myriam looked to Saark, who shrugged.
'It's empty,' called Kell from the guard hut, then stepped inside. He emerged after a few minutes. 'There are some supplies. A sack of grain and weapons.'
'Swords?' said Saark.
'Aye,' nodded Kell, and threw Saark a thin military rapier.
Saark caught the weapon, and swished it through the air several times. 'Well balanced. Good steel.' He lifted eyes and met Kell's gaze. 'Maybe our luck is improving?'
'Yeah, well don't get too horny. This place is a dead end.' He nodded to the river.
Saark glanced up and down the shingle slope, and saw Kell was right. The only access was via the river. Then he noticed a short jetty, in black wood, half rotten and listing to one side. It had been repaired with old rope, but threatened at any moment to crash into the river.
'I get the impression this place isn't used often,' said Saark.
'I think the damn albinos have more things to worry about than us, lad. You remember back on Skaringa Dak? The sky going out like a candle? The appearance of those pretty boys, those Vampire Warlords?'
'I remember,' said Saark. He glanced up and down the river, and shivered. Then he looked over to Myriam, then back to the thickly churning waters. He could see lumps of ice. 'I know what you're going to suggest.'
'You do?' Kell looked impressed.
'We have only one option.'
'Which is?'
'The river.' Saark's eyes were dark. 'If we don't build it right, we'll drown, Kell.'
'I know that, lad. But if we stay here, we'll either freeze or meet another group of Graal's arse-kissing gigolos. It's one of those risks we'll have to take.'
'I'm not a boat-builder,' said Saark, eyes narrowed, voice suddenly wary with suspicion. 'What do you want me to do?'
'Go and cut that rope free from the old jetty. We'll need it for bindings. And I'll sort out some timber.'
'What will I cut it with?'
'There's knives in the hut.'
'Are they sharp?'
Kell stared at Saark. 'I don't know, lad. Go and have a bloody look.'
Muttering, Saark moved to the guard shack and peered in. It was dark, and damp, wood mouldering, the sack of grain rotten. Saark curled his lips into a sneer, and crept in as if afraid to touch anything. He found one of the knives, blade rusted, hilt unravelling, and stepped back out to the shingle. 'This knife is rusty,' he said.
Kell looked up. He sighed. 'Just do your best, lad.'
Saark moved to the jetty, muttering again about being rich, and honoured, and noble, and how manual labour was a disgrace to his ancestors and so far beneath Saark he should live on a mountaintop. He stopped and peered warily at the treacherous footing. Water gushed around the jetty with gusto, bubbling and churning. Reaching out, Saark touched the wood with a grimace, and it was slick with mould. The whole structure shifted under his touch, shuddering.
'Great,' he said, hefting the rusted knife and starting to saw at one piece of rope.
