damp cave, warming hands over the meagre flames, Myriam stirred the soup, and fixed Kell with an odd look.
'You know, Kell, when I was younger I was a student at the University of Vor. We had many texts there; it was during that time I found I had a small affinity for magick.'
'Illusions, you mean,' snorted Saark.
'Even so. There were many texts I studied before… before my affliction.'
'And?' Kell had made a mug of coffee, and held it between his great bear paws. It looked a little ridiculous. Out of scale. He drank the bittersweet brew, and sighed, feeling caffeine and sugar fire through his system. That feeling was closely followed by a ravening hunger. How long since they had eaten? How long since they did anything except grab a sleep of exhaustion, or a meal of dried meat as they fled yet more danger? Oh, for a fine steak, a tankard of honey-mead, and new potatoes garnished with herbs and butter. Kell found his mouth watering. Horse- shit, he thought. Things were going to get a lot worse before they got better, that was for sure.
'I think I know these two women who follow, in pursuit. These, as you say, blend of albino and vachine. Of what you speak is a rarity; if the texts are to be believed.'
Kell stared at her. 'They had texts on the vachine at Vor University?'
Myriam gave a strange smile. 'Yes. They were kept under lock and key, obviously. King Searlan, as his father and grandfather before him, did not want the vachine made common knowledge to the populace. It was bad enough having Blacklippers running blood through the mountains, feeding any impure vachine willing to buy Karakan Red, without further adding to dark legends.'
'And that's where you found out about merging human with clockwork?'
Myriam nodded. 'Yes. When I contracted my…' her face contorted a little, and her eyes darkened despite the fire, 'my cancer, when I had exhausted my funds on employing ridiculous and pointless physicians who took my money and made recommendations, none of which worked, then I turned to knowledge, I turned to those secret books I knew existed in the Vor Vaults. I knew which Professors held the keys. I persuaded them, one way or another, to give me access.'
'You mean you used sex?' blurted Nienna, meeting Myriam's gaze.
'Don't look at me like that, girl. I did not – and do not – want to die.'
'None of us want to die,' said Nienna. 'But we don't always get a choice.' She bared her teeth in what might have been a smile; a smile tainted by memories of Kat. 'You say you think you know these women? Explain.'
'They fit a description I once read. In an ancient text.'
'Hold on,' said Saark, holding up his hand. 'I've been close to one of these killing bitches. Real close. And I'm telling you she wasn't a day over the age of twenty.'
'That isn't the way it works,' growled Kell.
Myriam nodded. 'They do not age; or not as you and I understand the ageing process. A vachine with regularly updated clockwork – well, they could live for hundreds of years. And these two – Shanna and Tashmaniok they were named – they were famous for many dark deeds. They were known as the Soul Stealers! And they were there at the Siege of Drennach. They were there during the Days of Blood.'
'They were?' said Saark, eyes wide. He glanced at Kell. 'Hey. You were at the Siege of Drennach! It's in the poem. It's part of the Legend!'
Kell licked his lips, eyes down, and sipped his coffee. He leant forward with a grunt, and stared into the pan. 'Is the soup ready?'
Myriam tasted it, then reached into her pocket and added more salt. 'Soon. Let the meat soften. I, also, find it hard to chew.'
Kell sat back, and as he stared into the fire he said, 'The Siege of Drennach was a bad time. Many died there. Nobody cared about Drennach, back then. We felt like we'd been deserted, by the King, by the people of Falanor. We were left out there to hang. There were only three hundred, a quarter what the garrison should have been, especially in a place that big. When the savages came from over the rolling desert dunes, wearing flowing robes and carrying tulwars and spears with golden heads that shimmered in the sun… well, each man on those walls knew he was dead meat. The savages had War Lions on leashes, huge beasts trained to fight in pits and then, at Drennach, trained to attack the defenders on the walls.' Kell shook his head, and sighed. 'It was a bad time; a time of death.' He looked up. 'I did bad things, then. I was a cruel man.' His face hardened, eyes narrowing. 'A very bad man.'
'But you never saw these Soul Stealers?' asked Saark.
Kell shook his head. 'Never heard of them, lad. And when I had my little encounter back at the distillery, I did not know the bitch. She seemed to know me, but I assumed that was because they were hunting us – sent by Graal, no less. If there was anything deeper, anything from back at Drennach, well, she gave me no sign.'
'One thing is for sure,' said Myriam.
'Oh yeah?' snapped Saark.
'They are deadly.'
'I think we should eat, now,' said Kell.
'Grandfather?'
His face cracked into a smile. 'Yes, little monkey?'
Nienna returned his smile. 'You said you were a bad man. Were you… were you really bad?'
'Only to the bad men,' lied Kell, shivering as he spoke the words, shivering as flickering red images of gore and torture rampaged through his mind; shivering, as he remembered his daughter.
Kell forced the memories away. No. Not now.
Now, he had a different agenda. To keep Nienna alive.
And to end the madness in Falanor.
He could only do that by remaining calm, and thinking things through, and not drinking whiskey and losing his temper. He could only do these things by not being Kell the Legend. His Legend came from his evil, dark deeds, from blood-oil and whiskey, and from the Dog Gem soul of Ilanna. From Ilanna.
Kell coughed, and accepted soup from Myriam.
'I should be dead,' he said, and sipped the hot, thin broth.
'But you are not.'
'I deserve it,' said Kell, fixing eyes on Saark.
'That's up for debate,' smiled Saark, weakly. 'You continually claim to be a bad man; and yet I see you perform good deeds all the time. Good deeds that help people; look at Nienna. You saved her, Kell.'
'To save myself,' he grunted.
Saark laughed, a tinkling sound in that strange cold place. 'You are indulging yourself, old man, you have this image of yourself and you will not, can not admit that good exists inside you. Well, mate, whatever you say. But you and I both know, even if you had not been poisoned, you would have strode across this world with your axe in hand, slaying any bastard who got between you and your granddaughter.'
'There you go,' said Kell. 'You admit it. I would have slain any who stood before me. That is not honourable. That is not strong. That is weak, Saark; I am a weak man. A strong man would not use his physical strength as do I. A strong man would not… abuse his gift.'
'The only abuse here,' said Saark, 'is your lack of table manners. Look! By all the gods, you're spilling soup down your jerkin. You're a scruffy bastard, Kell. It's in your beard and everything! Can you not connect hand to mouth? Can you not retain a simple soup in your orifice?'
'I'll shove my fist in your orifice if you don't stop mewling.'
'Ha, and there was I defending your honour and integrity.'
'I need no man for that,' said Kell.
Myriam had been watching bemusedly as the two men squabbled, then sat, staring at Kell. 'Kell.'
'Yes, lass?'
'I am confused. And a little worried.'
'Spit it out.'
'Well, as to why you are still guiding me to Silva Valley – to the vachine. I don't want to wake up – or not wake up – with an axe in the back of my skull. I am tired of looking over my shoulder. Weary of living in fear. And I recognise I have earned this by my actions. To you, and to Nienna. I am deeply sorry.'
Kell grinned, looking down into their meagre fire. 'You have pushed me a lot, Myriam. Pushed me beyond the boundaries of accepted behaviour.' He glanced up. His eyes glittered, then he shifted his gaze sideways to his
