Soul Stealers: The Clockwork Vampire Chronicles (28 page)

    "Inside," growled Kell, squaring himself up.

    "They can fit," said Saark. "The cankers are smaller than others we've met. Kell, the bastards can follow us."

    "Not if I have my way!" he hissed, eyes like glowing coals. Myriam and Saark followed Nienna into the narrow gap, and Kell lifted Ilanna above his head as the cankers orientated themselves on the man and dropped their heads, growls emitting on streams of saliva.

    Kell swung his axe, striking the rocky wedge above. The wall
boomed
, sparks spat in a shower, and above the rocks trembled. Again Kell struck the wall, and again, his huge muscles straining, Ilanna shrieking and singing in simple joy and the cankers charged, their brass claws raking the rocks and for a final time, Kell slammed his axe into the wall and above there came a rattle, followed by cracks as three huge rocks shifted, and one fell, the second fell atop it, and their combined weight brought a wall of granite tumbling into the gap as Kell leapt back, stumbled back, dust billowing out and slamming him like a wall of ash. Kell coughed, choking for a moment, blinded, dust in his beard and eyes. He dropped his axe, rubbing at his eyes and coughing some more, and Saark patted the old man on the back.

    "Well done, old boy."

    Kell picked up Ilanna and surveyed the blockage, his eyes following it upwards. He grunted in cynicism. "Let's see how long that holds. Not long enough, I'd wager."

    "You're ever the sweet voice of optimism."

    "Get to chaos, Saark. And next time, try using that pretty little rapier instead of standing by watching me fight!"

    "Hey!" Saark spread his hands. "You seemed to be doing such a fine job! You didn't need my little prick in the middle of your hero battle; after all, you are
Kell the
Legend
. They wrote poems about you."

    Kell stared beadily at Saark, then pushed him heavily in the chest. "Go on. Follow Nienna and Myriam. Let's get out of this shit hole before a mountain of rocks comes down on our heads."

    "Don't push! You'll wrinkle the silk."

    Kell shook his head and sighed. "Some things will never change," he rumbled.

They moved as swiftly as they could through the gloom, and more snow began to fall. They found a cave, and Kell allowed Myriam to build a small fire. "They know where we are, anyways," he said. "And I think we all need something warm inside us."

    Myriam made a thin soup in a shallow pan she carried in her pack, and as they sat shivering in the small 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 granddaughter. Nienna was looking up at the cave walls in fascination, as if she'd found a particularly original composition of poetry embedded in damp stone. Kell shook his head. He could not understand her continual enthralment. "The thing is, lass, if you'd pulled that trick on me a few years back, with the poison – well girl, you'd now be dead. The minute the antidote touched my lips I would have split you down the fucking middle like a log." He rested back, soup finished, hands on his knees. He sighed. "However. I am trying. I am trying to be… not good, but
better
. I am trying to be a
tolerable
man, for Nienna, to show her a fine example. Ironically, I am trying to do this in the midst of an invasion. But a man must strive." He ran his hand through his thick, shaggy, unkempt hair. Then scratched at his beard, rubbing away a smudge of soup. "And we have the same goals. The same destination. Silva Valley seems to be the place with answers. I am Kell. And I sorely want some answers."

    "I have a trade."

    "Another one?" growled Saark. "The only trade you deserve is a blade between the ribs."

    "Quiet," snapped Kell, scowling. "She's done bad things. We all agree this. But then, Saark, you are hardly the angel. I have not forgotten what you did with Kat. You are a predator. What did the men say back at the village? At Kettleskull Creek? 'Saark, an arrogant rich bastard, unable to keep his childmaker in his cheese-stinking pants.'"

    "Oh. You heard that, did you?"

    "I heard it, lad." He glanced at Myriam. "What are you thinking?"

    "Information. About the Soul Stealers."

    "Go on."

    "You promise not to kill me?"

    "If I'd wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead."

    Myriam nodded, realising that her life hung by a thread, and that thread was called Nienna. She swallowed.

    "The Soul Stealers. They are creatures of the Black Pike Mountains. That is what I read."

    "Yes?"

    "Their father is said to be an ancient servant of the Vampire Warlords. They do his bidding. I read that for hundreds of years the Soul Stealers have been employed in an attempt to bring back the Vampire Warlords – and if they do, these Warlords will use the vachine and the albinos and the Harvesters… all will be subservient, all will turn the world into a dark place of chaos."

    Kell considered this. "I have heard this tale before," he said. "About these Warlords, although under a different name; it is a fiction used to frighten little children by the fire. It is a nonsense."

    Myriam shrugged. "There is a place, Helltop, a mountain-top hall, a sacred place of the vachine. It overlooks Silva Valley, from thousands and thousands of feet up. It is said to be the home of the Soul Stealers. It is said that they cannot be killed except in that place, for it is a source of their power, the source of their own collective soul. And when they kill, every soul they take flows back to the Granite Thrones which reside there."

    "I have heard of the Granite Thrones," said Nienna, suddenly. "It is where the Blood Kings once sat. We did it in Classical History in preparation for Jalder University." She went quiet, then. She was continually reminded of a life she no longer had.