our return.'
'Our return,' said Myriam, softly, eyes distant. She smiled a skeletal smile. 'Maybe some of us won't return? Instead, we will find paradise.'
'In your dreams, Myriam,' said Saark unkindly, and slapped his mount's rump, watching the beast slither back down the pathway and canter to a halt. The group emptied saddlebags, and then Kell stared meaningfully at Mary.
'No,' said Saark.
'She'll be a pain in the arse.'
'Nonsense! Mary is a fine beast, agile as a goat, the stamina of a lion. Where I go, Mary goes.'
Kell peered close, and grinned. 'Is there something I don't know about you and that mule?'
'Mary is a donkey. And don't be so crass.' 'Why not? You've fucked everything else in existence.'
'I resent that, axeman.'
'Why so? I've never seen one so rampant. You'll be chasing Myriam next!' He roared with laughter, some good humour returned, and slapped Saark on the back. 'Come on lad. Walk ahead with me. I wish to talk.'
They moved on after releasing the horses, and Saark led Mary, her rope wrapped around one fist. Behind, Nienna walked with Myriam, and Myriam smiled down at the girl. 'Is it good? Good to be back with your grandfather?'
'Yes. I have missed him terribly. I knew he would come for me.'
'I… I wanted to apologise, girl. For the way I treated you. And treated him. I have been selfish beyond reason.'
Nienna shrugged. 'What I don't understand is why we are still here. Why we are heading through the mountains. I thought he would leave you when you gave him the antidote; in fact, I thought he would cut you in half.' She smiled, a weak, cold smile, her eyes glittering.
Myriam sighed. 'I have done… bad things, Nienna. I admit that. And I deserve Kell's hatred. And even yours.'
'I don't hate you,' said Nienna, smiling gently. 'I see your pain, understand your agony. I pity you, Myriam, not hate you.'
Myriam's eyes went dark. 'Well girl, sometimes pity is far worse.'
Ahead, Kell had halted. The towering walls were silent, looming, filling the narrow pass with shadows. Water trickled and gushed in various places, and had frozen solid in others, either in fingers of sculpted, corrugated ice, or in vast, hanging sheets. Occasionally, stones rattled down the sheer iron-stained flanks of this interior slice from the mountain range.
'We must move with care,' said Kell. 'There have been many rockfalls here over the years. Any loud noise could bring down the Pikes on our bloody heads. We all understand?'
'Aye,' nodded Saark, rubbing Mary's muzzle.
They set off again, down a rocky slope, boots slithering. Eventually, Saark said, 'Kell, I have a question.' 'It better not be about sex,' growled the huge warrior.
'No no. Not this time. I was simply wondering why we are still here?'
'Think about it.'
'About Myriam?'
'No, you dolt. About the two vachine who Graal sent to kill us. I was thinking about them; thinking a lot. Graal has invaded Falanor, wiped the whole damn army of Leanoric under his boots. So then. What next? We stumble through his camp like blind men through a brothel, and by some bloody miracle manage to escape. What should Graal do? Continue his expansion in the name of vachine blood-oil gathering? Or spend considerable resources sending killers after us? Why? Why hunt us down? He knew we were heading north. Why waste two of his best killers? Surely he has more important fish to fry.'
Saark considered this. 'He knew your history, Kell. About being a Vachine Hunter for the old Battle King.'
'Exactly. But that should not worry him; what's the worst I could do? Harry a few stray vachine scum in the mountains? Hardly a threat to his war effort, don't you think?'
'What are you getting at?'
'Graal knows I was heading north. He knows I know the Pikes. Maybe – and this is just a thought – maybe he thinks I'm heading for Silva Valley. The homeland of the vachine. But then, surely I would be slaughtered the minute I arrived?'
'So you think Graal wants to stop you finding Silva Valley?'
Kell nodded. 'Yes. He thinks I know something I don't. There is some great mystery here, some puzzle we need to unravel. I think Graal is not playing for the vachine; I think he works his own game, I think the conniving bastard is up to his own bowel-stinking tricks. But what? What could he possibly be doing? And why would he think I was a threat to his plans?'
'I see your reasoning. And now I see why we're heading north, instead of south back to the relative comfort of Falanor – such as we'd be able to find. If Graal doesn't want you here, this is probably the best place for you to be.'
'Exactly!' growled Kell. 'Silva Valley, that is where the answers lie. The more we travelled north after Nienna, the more I realised that Myriam's goal is our goal. She wants immortality; I want answers. Our only chance of stopping this damned invasion is to confront its source. We need to know more about these Harvester bastards, we need to know where the albino soldiers come from – but more importantly, we need to find the source of the vachine.'
'You cannot take on an entire nation of clockwork killers,' said Saark, hand on Kell's shoulder.
'You just do it one head at a time,' snapped Kell. 'You'd be surprised what a pyramid you can build.'
'I think, old horse, that sometimes you are crazy.'
Kell nodded sombrely. 'I'm just the way the world made me.'
More snow fell, a light scattering making rocks treacherous and slippery. After several hours of the narrow pass they emerged into a circular valley with a frozen tarn at its floor. All around reared jagged teeth peaks, and Kell put his hands on his hips, breathing deeply, staring out at the stunning, desolate beauty of the place.
'Kingsman's Tarn,' said Kell. He pointed, and the others followed his gaze. 'Up that way is Demon's Ridge, the first of our trials. If we can get up there by nightfall, we'll be safe from anything that follows.'
'You're being followed?' said Myriam, eyes narrowed, hand straying to her longbow.
'I guarantee it,' said Kell. 'Graal seems to have a passion to make me dead. Well, as he's going to find out, I don't die easy.'
'You keep saying that,' snapped Saark.
'Ain't it true, lad?'
'I'm not disputing its truth, just pointing out that it grates on my nerves every time you say it.'
Kell laughed, seeing Saark's uneasiness. A cold wind howled down over the tarn, and rushed past them like a phalanx of cold angels. 'I understand now! You are so much out of your natural environment, it hurts.'
Saark frowned. 'What do you mean?'
'The royal court,' Kell sneered, 'with its golden goblets, bowls of honey fruit, its randy middle-aged courtiers with powdered wigs and silk panties and glossy leather boots – that's your world, Saark. The world of easy sex and animal sex, of whiskey-wine and the best cuts of meat full of thick fat juice and spiced herbs from a different continent! The world of the dandy. The fop. The rich idiot with too much gold and nothing between his ears, nor his legs, I'd wager. That, Saark, my favourite horny, perfumed goat, is the world to which you belong. Your natural setting. But this. This!' He stared around, at the wilds, the rugged ridgelines, the whipping flurries of snow, the ice, the storm-filled skies; a place of natural wonder, and brutality, and death. 'This is my place,' he finished quietly.
Saark pushed ahead, leading Mary. 'That way, you say?'
'Yes. Across the heather. There's a rocky path we can follow further on, an old stream bed leading up to Demon's Ridge. You'll struggle with that damn donkey, though.'
'I'm not leaving her behind. Not here,' said Saark, patting her fondly.
'Aye. Well, I suppose there's good eating on one.'
'What?' Saark's voice was ice.
