Myriam gave a small shrug, staring into the fire.
'It was a lie,' whispered Nienna, eyes wide, as sudden understanding flooded her. 'You told him I had been poisoned to make him come here! That was… evil!'
Myriam shrugged again. 'I thought the trophy of his own life might not be enough. However you, my sweet little apple,' she reached forward and cupped Nienna's chin, 'you are precious enough to be worth saving.'
Nienna shook her head, disengaging Myriam's grasp. 'You are evil,' she repeated, her eyes narrowed.
Myriam stood and stretched, a languorous movement of long limbs. She was every inch the hunter; the killer. 'Maybe so. But my priority lies with myself, so don't get too high and mighty, child. At the end of the day, you're simply a bartering tool and to me, worth more than my soul.'
'It must be savage to live in your world,' said Nienna, her face dark thunder.
'Indeed it is.' Myriam's face was twisted and sour. 'I welcome you to try it, sometime.'
They rode for long, silent hours, hooves clopping through hard-packed snow, wrapped in blankets and furs against the cold of a now mercilessly chilling winter. It was late afternoon as they appeared from the edge of scattered deciduous woodland to see the full majesty of the Black Pike Mountains rearing before them. Whereas under the woodland canopy they had been afforded glimpses, nothing had prepared Nienna for the sheer exhilaration of the Pikes.
The books and stories told of at least three thousand peaks, each a jagged tooth in a maw which split the land in two; not a single peak was under two thousand feet in height, whereas many topped seven and eight thousand, where the air was thin and crevasses seemingly endless. There were few paths which led into the Black Pikes, and of those who discovered a route, few returned. It was said all manner of creatures lived in those echoing valleys, in caves and tunnels and on high treacherous ledges; it was also said such creatures were best left to the imagination.
'Big,' was all Nienna managed, awe caught in her throat like a plum stone.
'They'll take you in and spit you out,' said Myriam, kicking her horse into a canter. 'Come on. There's our destination.'
The rugged landscape, scattered with a million jagged rocks, sloped down towards an ancient black fortress which spanned the neck of a valley. The walls were black, and seemed to gleam in the weak afternoon light. Weaving around thick grass and irregularly shaped rocks, many larger than a cottage, they progressed across the land until Nienna's eyes took the tiny toy fortress and reassessed its size and scale. The Cailleach Fortress was mammoth. And it was subtly ruined, Nienna realised, the closer she came. Her eyes began to pick out fault lines in the very structure of the fortress. In some sections of the towering, defensive walls, great cracks ran from battlements to foundation, and in other areas towers leaned, and the whole structure took on a disjointed air. Closer they moved, until Myriam called a halt and they squatted like tiny insects against a giant world canvas. And Nienna realised quite clearly that the Cailleach Fortress arraigned before them was twisted. Nothing was straight. No wall, no tower, no archway, no section of battlement.
'It is said,' came Myriam's voice, a soothing whisper, cutting through the eerie silence which Nienna realised with a start had descended, 'that the Black Pike Mountains, offended by this intrusion of man, sent roots under the fortress and twisted this great monument of war into a mockery of Man's achievement.'
'Really?'
'Yes. Others claim a dark sorcery resided here, committing evil necrotic deeds, and the magick twisted and broke every stone used in its vast construction. Whatever the truth, there is no doubt the place is haunted. Nobody will live here. Nobody will even camp here.'
'And we are going in?' Apprehension.
'Yes. I have learnt that if you keep your head down, the ghosts leave you be. They are nothing but sighs in the wind, the whispers of the dead in your ear, and in your nightmares. You must be strong, Nienna, but do not fear; nothing can hurt you in this place.'
'You are sure?'
Myriam gave a narrow, nasty smile. 'Nothing but me, that is.'
Nienna returned the thin smile. 'I had not forgotten. I don't think I ever will.'
Night was falling fast, huge storm clouds filling the skies in a tumultuous celebration. Thunder rumbled, a deep-throated exhalation. In the distance, hailstones drummed the earth.
'Come on. At least there is shelter.'
Nienna followed Myriam at a fast trot, and thoughts flitted through her mind. Escape! Turn her horse and run. But then, a sensible part of her soul realised: where to? How would she find Kell in this wilderness crawling with cankers and albino soldiers from the Army of Iron? He could be anywhere. Better to let him come to her. Better to let him take the initiative, and be prepared for chaos when he found Myriam. For Nienna knew, with a sour feeling in her belly, with images of death in her brain, it would be better to aid Kell, for she did not have the power nor the skill to finish Myriam alone. With a bitter nod to reality, she realised she had little enough will to kill in the first place. Killing was for soldiers. Killing was for assassins. And Nienna was neither; she celebrated life, and love, and honour. Death was for fools.
They moved on, and within minutes the Black Pike Mountains were swept with a sheet of pounding ice. It flooded the world, obscuring the sky, obscuring the mountains. Nienna bowed her head as hail slammed her like needles. She lifted the edge of her cloak, but still ice stung her face, and no matter how she tried to shield herself the storm always found a way in. It crept around collar and cuffs, around ankles and tiny vents at the edges of her boots that she didn't realise existed. Cold air crept into her clothing and chilled her, and she cursed it. The Black Pike storm seemed to have all the advantages.
'Not long, now,' said Myriam, unnecessarily, and Nienna looked up. The fortress loomed closer, slightly askew and slick with ice and snow. The black walls seemed darker. The battlements glossy. The world was dark, except for the Cailleach Fortress – which gleamed with a sort of eldritch witch-light of dark energy.
'What kind of stone is that?' said Nienna, slowly, as they grew closer and closer, and the toy fortress reared above them, towered above them at an angle which made the world feel wrong. When everything was out of the vertical, it made a person's brain hurt.
'It's not stone.'
'What is it, then?'
Myriam threw Nienna a dark look. Shut up, that look said, and Nienna's teeth clamped tight. 'I don't know,' she whispered, mind distant. 'Something alien'.
From a distance the Cailleach Fortress had appeared of normal proportions, but now Nienna realised her perceptions, as well as every vertical wall, were askew. It was big. No, bigger than big. It was massive, but also out of proportion. The doorways could accommodate a man twice the normal height, and every single archway or window or archer's firing slit was double the size, as if the fortress had been built to accommodate an army of giants.
They slowed as they approached the main gates, which were open, like the sleeping mouth of a waiting predator. Myriam halted, and her horse pawed the frozen earth nervously. A warm wind sighed from the gates in an easy rhythm, like breath.
Myriam glanced back, and gave a tight smile. 'Do not be afraid,' she said, and led the way into the corridor of darkness.
From the edges of the world shadows rushed in with a tumbling swirling hissing, like a million snakes trapped in the vortex of a storm, and Nienna's hands came up clasping her ears, clasping her skull as her eyes widened and her horse whinnied in fear, head lowering, hooves booming ancient cobbles, and as her pupils dilated to accommodate the gloom she saw the blurred shapes of the dead converge on Myriam… and then turn, blank black faces focussing and fixing and tilting, and then rushing towards her with a gestalt scream, a merged noise of agony from a thousand years past…
CHAPTER 8
Blood Taint
