civilisation; the nectar of the machine vampires.
The canker smiled again, a bitter smile as it remembered its long past, as it remembered the pretty man, and this time the thoughts behind the grimace were as equally twisted. For the canker was deviant, unholy, cast out by the Engineer Episcopate, and however conversely, employed by the very vachine Engineers who had condemned it. The canker could hunt. And it could kill. And in some small way attempt to find a token retribution, some faith, some hope for that entwining symbiotic battle of flesh and clockwork which had twisted the canker since shortly after its meeting with… Graal. When clockwork had been introduced to fresh human flesh.
Graal. Now, there was a man to hate.
The canker was obedient. It had been bribed with a future promise of returned and retuned flesh, of fresh new mortality, of assimilation into a purebreed human where it could return to a life of normality; without the eternal internal pain of battling machinery.
I can do it, thought the monster. I can find out.
And if not? Well, the instruction had been complicit.
I must kill, it thought.
For it is the only way to be sane.
The canker watched the two men dwindling into twilight, drifting ghosts, and even from this great distance it could smell the oil on their weapons, the sweat in their clothes, the unrefined blood in their veins. Hunger pulsed in the canker's brain, amidst a turmoil of gears and cogs and painful memories, so painful; brainmesh, it was called. And it hurt worse than acid.
In eerie silence the canker stood, stretched powerful muscles, and padded down the hill between elderly gnarled oaks.
'I thought you said there was a fortified town out this way?' grumbled Kell, stopping and leaning on his axe with a weary sigh. Snow swirled around his boots, and the huge tangled bearskin across his broad shoulders sat crusted with rimes of ice, shining silver. The two geldings halted behind him, and one pawed the frozen earth with a heavy, iron-shod hoof. 'It'll be night soon; I could dearly do with some hot food and three hours in a soft bed, away from this bastard snow.'
'Ah, Kell old horse, you are so narrow-minded in your basic warrior's vision!' Saark grinned at the old soldier. As the day had advanced, he had begun to feel better and better, more fit and healthy than he had for years. It was a miracle, he realised, with a dark, grim, bitter humour. 'A plate of simple peasant vegetables? Surely that cannot be your only lust? What of the warm inviting thighs of some generously proportioned innkeeper's daughter? What of her eager lips? Her fastrising bosom? Her peasant's need to please?'
Kell hawked and spat, and focused on the dandy. 'Saark mate, you misunderstand me. Exhaustion is the first thing on my mind; followed by an ale, and then a need to get to Nienna before something bad happens. And look at you! I cannot believe you bought such ridiculous clothes back in Creggan. You should have been born a woman, mate. Too much pompous lace and courtside extravagance. It's enough to make an honest woodsman puke.'
'But Kell, Kell, dear Kell – born a woman, you say?' Saark smiled, his perfectly symmetrical teeth displaying a boyish humour that had broken many a woman's heart. 'Is that because you find me secretly attractive? Through all our battles, all our triumphs, the mighty Kell, grizzled old warrior, hero of Kell's Legend, superior in strength and violence to all his many enemies… secretly, all along, he was a boy-fancier and lusted after a slice of Saark's pork pie!'
'You go too far!' stormed Kell, and lurched forward, mighty axe Ilanna held in one hefty fist, face crimson with embarrassment and sudden rage. 'Don't be smear ing me with your own backward deviant wants. You might enjoy a roll with a man; I do not. The only use I have for a man,' he hoisted his axe purposefully, 'is to detach his head from his fucking shoulders.'
Saark took a step back, hand on sword-hilt. His smile was still there, but mistrust shone in his eyes. He knew Kell to be a good friend, and a mighty foe; honourable, powerful, but ultimately compromised by a bad streak of temper made worse by even the smallest drop of whiskey. 'Kell, old boy,' his words were more clipped now, for the stress of the journey – and the hunt for Nienna – was wearing hard on both men. 'Calm down. I was only jesting. Soon, we will find a tavern. Hopefully, one without vachine bitches and Blacklipper raiders. And then, then you can satiate your own personal lust.'
'What's that supposed to mean, lad?'
'I'm sure they'll have a drop or ten of Falanor's Finest Malt .'
Kell made a growling sound, more animal than human, and took another step closer. Saark, to his credit, stood his ground. He may have looked like a rampant peacock loose and horny in the midst of a silk market, but he had been King Leanoric's Sword Champion. Many times, he had been underestimated – usually at the expense of somebody's life.
'You in the mood for a fight, lad?' snapped Kell.
Saark held up one hand, shaking his head, eyes lowered to the snowy ground. 'No, no, you misunderstand.' He gazed up then, reading Kell's pain. Nienna had been gone far too long, and their quest to find her seemed as hopeless now as it had when the land of Falanor was overrun by the albino Army of Iron.
Ultimately, Kell's missing granddaughter was a thorn in this great lion's paw; but one nobody could easily extract. Only Kell could do that. And the chances were, the search and rescue would be carried high on the back of mutilation, murder and annihilation. Kell was not a forgiving man.
'My friend, you are worse than any irate vachine. Calm down! I was just trying to lighten the mood, old horse.'
'I'll lighten your bowels,' growled Kell.
'You really are a cantankerous and stinking donkey.'
'And you are a feathered popinjay, too damn fond of your own song. Shut your mouth, Saark-I can't say it any plainer-before I carve you a second smile.'
Saark nodded, and they understood one another, and they moved on through the now heavily falling snow.
'There's the town,' said Saark. 'It's called Kettleskull Creek. Fortified with high walls. Brilliant. We might get an uninterrupted sleep! And it looks like the Army of Iron did not pass this way; probably too eager to get to Jalder, and the ripe harvest found there.'
'Kettleskull Creek? What an odd name.'
'It's fine, Kell. They know me.'
'By the way you say 'know me', do you mean there are fifteen bastard children?'
Saark tilted his head. 'You know, Kell, for you that's pretty good. No. I have only four bastard children I know of, although I'm sure there are many more in the provinces.' He gave a wry smile, eyes distant, as if reliving a catalogue of pretty women. 'I did a lot of travelling in the name of the king. So many beautiful ladies. So little time.'
But Kell wasn't listening. He had turned, was looking down their back trail. In the distance huge brooding hills blackened the sky through the twilight snow. Kell searched from left to right, both hands clasped on Ilanna. 'Let's get to the town,' he said.
'A problem?'
'We're being followed.'
'You sure?'
Kell turned, and the look in his eyes chilled Saark to the marrow. 'Your skill is wooing unsuspecting ladies, lad. Mine is killing those creatures who need to be dead. Trust me. We are being followed. We need to move now… unless you relish a fight in the dark? In the ice?'
'Understood,' muttered Saark, and led the way towards the high walls of the stocky timber barricade.
Saark had spoken the truth, the villagers knew him, and they lifted the bars on the twenty foot high gates and allowed the two men entry. As Saark turned, smiling, he faced a porcupine of steady, unsheathed swords.
'What's the matter, lads? Did I say something to offend?'
'Gambling debts,' muttered one man with strange, black tattoos on his teeth. He was tall and rangy, with dark looks and bushy brows that met at the centre of his forehead. 'Let's just say that last time you was here Saark… well mate, you made a swift exit.'
Saark gave an easy laugh, resting back on one hip, his hand held out, lace cuff puffed towards the ranger. 'My man, you have read my very honourable intention. I have indeed decided to return in order to pay off my
