'Do you want me to stay?' she said.
'Oh yes,' said Saark, reaching out and caressing her breasts. Instantly her nipples hardened and reaching forward, gently, his tongue circled her areola. Nienna murmured, and shuffled closer, and Saark's arms encircled her, and now his hard cock pressed into her, and he kissed her, he kissed her lips and they were warm and sweet from honeycakes and wine, and he kissed her neck, which was warm and soft like silk, and his hands ran down her back and she shivered in anticipation and thrust herself painfully against him, in need, in lust, and his hands came to rest on her buttocks, firm and hard from so much travelling in the wilds. They kissed again, harder this time, with passion and a need that transcended threats and Saark's hand dipped, stroked between Nienna's legs and she squirmed, giggling a little, then moaning and sinking into his embrace as his hand entered her, and he bore her down to the bed, and Saark was lost in wine and lust and memories, and he remembered Alloria; she was his first love and she was his true love and she was before him now, on the soft silk sheets in King Leanoric's chambers, Alloria, with her mane of curled black hair, her flashing dangerous green eyes, her ruby red lips, tall, with her elegant long languorous limbs and her tongue stained from blue karissia, and she smiled up at Saark, and Alloria said, 'Make love to me, Saark,' and Nienna said, 'Make love to me, Saark,' and Saark pushed himself into her, all the way, to the hilt, and she groaned and he groaned and they fucked long and hard on the bed, their groans and thrusts rising rising rising to a climax of perfect joy and union, and Saark whispered, 'Alloria,' but Nienna was too far gone to hear the words and she gave herself to Saark, not caring, not caring about the world and Kell's threats and vachine imperfections… and slowly, they spiralled down into a cold place, a cold world of reality, facing war and mutilation and death.
And in the cold dark hours of the night, they clung tightly to each other like children.
Governor Myrtax could not sleep. He was too hot, sweating and feeling fevered, and so he stepped from his bed and pulled on low, soft-leather boots. His wife murmured in sleep and turned, one arm flinging out, but she did not wake. Myrtax crossed to the next room and looked in on his sleeping babes; he saw their dark shapes, breathing rhythmically in the ink, and he smiled; smiled the happy smile of fatherhood; smiled the smile of innate joy at what a man's child could invest without effort – just simply by being.
Too hot. Too damn hot!
Myrtax stepped from his quarters and looked across at the distant fortress walls. Fires burned in braziers on the battlements, and ten guards kept watch across the snowy plains. Damn, but he didn't want to leave this place. Didn't want to go to war. Why would he? His family was here. His wife, who he loved more than life; his children, who he'd die for!
Myrtax jogged down the steps and onto the frozen mud. He was surprised to find he had a knife in his hand, and he slipped it back into the oiled leather sheath. Strange. I don't remember belting the knife on. Why would I need a knife in my own mine? But of course, after the Governors – the false Governors – took over and threatened my children; well, a man has to protect himself; a man has to look after his own interests.
Governor Myrtax moved across the ground, seemingly with no destination, until he found himself outside the cell of Sara. Kell's daughter.
How strange to come here. Why would I come here? Kell said she was dangerous, and not to trust her, but I know he's wrong because I have seen into her eyes, and she is a noble creature, a beautiful creature, and anything that stunning must be good…
'Good evening, sir,' said the guard, and gurgled and vomited blood as Governor Myrtax's dagger slid under his ribs and up, with a hard jabbing thrust, into his heart. The man sagged into Myrtax's arms, and he frowned, confused at why the man was so heavy, and why the man had been drinking on duty, and why he was now asleep in his arms like a dirty drunkard.
'I'll have you up on a charge,' muttered Myrtax, lowering the twitching guard to the ground and taking the keys from his belt. He moved to the cell, the interior of which was a black pool of oil, impenetrable to the naked eye, and Myrtax inserted the key and opened the gate.
Myrtax stood back, his mind flushed with confusion, and he looked up and the stars were bright, bathing him in a surreal glow and he smiled, as he thought about his children. He had been blessed when they were born, and blessed more as they grew into two of the most beautiful things he had ever witnessed in creation -
'Myrtax. You have surpassed yourself,' said Sara, stepping from her cage. She smiled, and leant forward, fangs extending towards the dazed Governor of the Black Pike Mines.
'Hey! Hey you!' It was an inner-wall patrol of guards, set up by Grak. Boots pounded stone, and three soldiers wearing new armour and carrying newly forged short swords sprinted forward, and a sword whistled for Sara but she leapt, straight up into the air, the sword slashing beneath her boots. She twisted in the air, back- flipping behind the men. She landed lightly, reached out, and snapped one man's neck. He crumpled instantly. A sword hammered down, and Sara swayed, arm slapping out to break the man's arm in half. His hand and wrist fell twitching to the stone, spewing blood, and he screamed – a scream silenced as Sara punched out, fist entering his mouth and breaking his teeth and exploding from the back of his head… and as it exited, her claws extended with a flick, putting out the third soldier's eyes.
Sara withdrew her hand with a squelch and shower of bloody mush, and leaving one soldier sobbing on the floor, holding his ruined face, she reached over and gently kissed Myrtax on the lips. 'Until the next time, lover,' she said, and was gone in a whisper of darkness.
More soldiers arrived, led by Grak, his sword out, his face grim. He stepped up to the man without eyes and only half a face remaining; with a savage downward stab, he put the writhing man out of his misery.
'Check the cell.' Grak whirled on Governor Myrtax. 'What the hell happened here?' Then he saw the keys still in Myrtax's hands, and the dazed look on the man's face even as he started to drift back into some semblance of understanding.
'What? What… where did all the blood come from? Oh, my…' said Myrtax.
The soldier returned. 'Sir. One vampire is gone, the other is… well, it's a husk.'
'What do you mean, a husk?'
'It's shrivelled up. Like all the blood has been sucked out.'
Grak strode forward, and stared at the skin-bag of bones. 'Shit,' he snarled, then turned back to Myrtax. 'The vampire must have fed from the other one; to keep strong.' He pointed at the Governor. 'Are you happy with yourself? Eh?' Then back to the soldier, in a tone of disgust. 'Go and lock that bastard up, before he does any more damage.'
Two soldiers grabbed Myrtax's arms and removed the dagger from his belt. They led him away, tears on his cheeks, protesting confusion and innocence.
Grak looked down at the dead soldiers, then up at the night sky. The stars twinkled. Grak had no time for their cold beauty. 'You, lad!'
'Yes, sir?'
'Double the guards.'
'Where, sir?'
'Everywhere!' he thundered. 'Tell them we have a vampire loose in the fucking mine.'
'Yes, sir!'
'And soldier?'
'Yes sir?'
'Go and wake Saark. He needs to know about this.'
Kell stared around in disbelief. The Valleys of the Moon was massive, and bisected down the middle of the floor by a huge crevasse from which steam slowly rose, along with a sulphurous stench that made Kell's eyes weep.
His hands were bound tightly behind his back, and Dekkar carried Ilanna in one hand, his own flanged mace in the other. He was grinning madly, and Jagor Mad walked by his side, a kind of strutting arrogance in his step now he had the upper hand.
'I can't believe I trusted you,' said Kell, his eyes moving along the rift in the valley floor to the distant huts beyond. They lined the walls, small and made from mud and stone, with slate roofs and hand-carved doors of oak.
'More the fool you,' said Jagor, cocky now, too cocky, his eyes shining with a new light. Kell realised what it was. Hatred. It hadn't vanished, only been pushed deep down whilst Jagor brought him here. Kell had been played like a pawn. Like a court jester. And that burned him bad, worse than any poison force fed into his bones by
