Vampire Warlords: The Clockwork Vampire Chronicles (13 page)

  "Old wives' tales," said Kell, without looking at her. His gaze was focused on the distant line of trees, a swathe of iron-black trunks no bigger than his thumbnails. Half a league, he reckoned. That was a long way to walk on treacherous, thin ice.

  Behind, Saark and Myriam were making small-talk.

  "Tell me more about the clockwork," said Saark, the rope from a disobedient donkey cutting into his hand and making him wince.

  "What do you need to know?"

  "You think I will die? Without it, I mean?"

  "That is what Tashmaniok and Shanna advised. They may have been lying, though." She peered at Saark. "Why? How do you feel?"

  "Wonderful! Powerful, strong, at the peak of my prowess! All pain is gone, my wounds have healed except for the odd twinge; I'm thinking maybe this clockwork vampire thing isn't so bad after all. I am faster, stronger, my eyesight more acute; my stamina rarely leaves me, and I have greater resistance to heat and cold."

  "And yet you still moan about your cold toes," observed Myriam.

  "That's because the moaning bastard will whine about anything!" shouted back Kell.

  "By the gods, he has good hearing for a human," frowned Saark.

  "Better watch him, then, when you're sat under the blankets cuddling Nienna."

  Saark stared long and hard at Myriam. "I was simply offering warmth and friendship," he said.

  "Yes," snorted Myriam. "I've seen that sort of friendship a lot during my short, bitter lifetime!"

  Saark's eyes went wide. "Me? Really? You think I'd…" He considered this. "Actually, yes, of course you're right. I would. But you're missing the point. With that huge ugly axe hanging like a pendulum over the back of my skull, well, somehow I seem to lose that all-important
urge
." He grinned, but watched Myriam's face descend into pain. "Are you well?"

  "Yes! No. It's just, well, I don't want to talk about it."

  Saark replayed the conversation in his mind. Something had upset Myriam. What had it been? With his big flapping lips, he'd managed to put his damn soldier's boot in the horse shit again. Saark frowned, then stopped walking, placing his hands on his hips. Mary clacked to a halt behind him, and Myriam turned, a question in her eyes.

  Saark moved to her, and he was close, and he could smell her scent, a natural wood-smoke, a musky heady aroma mixed with sweat and Myriam's natural perfume. It made him a little dizzy. It made his mouth dry.

  "Yes?" she said.

  "Nothing," he smiled, and leant in close, lips almost touching hers, and he paused, and felt her inch towards him, her body shifting, in acceptance, in readiness, in subtle longing; and this was his permission to continue and he brushed her lips with his, a delicate gesture as if touching the petals of a rose and he felt her
sigh
. He eased closer, pressed his body against hers, and they kissed, and she was warm and firm under his gently supporting hands, her body taut, muscular, stronger than any woman he'd held before. He heard her groan, and her kiss became more passionate and Saark understood now,
understood
with the clarity of blood on snow. She had been eaten by the parasite cancer, and retreated like a snail into its shell. Myriam had repressed her lust, her longing, her desires, and it had been a long time since she'd had a real man; a long time since she'd had
any
man. Saark grinned to himself.
I'll show her what a real man is all about
, and he kissed her with passion, with delicacy, with an understanding of exactly what women want, how to bring them out, how to allow them to enjoy themselves – and more importantly, enjoy themselves with
him.

  She pulled back. "You're a dirty scoundrel," she laughed.

  "Kiss me again."

  She kissed him again, with an urgency now that was suddenly interrupted as Mary shoved her muzzle into Saark's cheek and flapped her lips with a "hrrpphhhhh" of splattered donkey saliva. Saark made a croaking sound, taking a step back, and Myriam laughed a laugh which was a tinkling of gentle chimes.

  "I think she's jealous," smirked Myriam.

  "I think you're right," agreed Saark. "Go on! Shoo! Bloody donkey! Bugger off!"

  Myriam touched Saark's cheek. "I'll be waiting for you. Tonight."

  Saark gave a single nod. "I know, my sweetness."

The Iron Forest shifted slowly back into view, but Kell had stopped up ahead. The travellers had become strung out, Kell in the lead, followed by a sullen Nienna walking alone, then Saark and Myriam trotting across the flat lake side by side, their faces awash with laughter and good humour. After a few minutes they caught up to Kell, whose dark eyes were surveying the black, seemingly impenetrable mass of the Iron Forest. It was dark, daunting, huge angular trunks and branches like broken claws. A dull silence seemed to ooze from the forest like an invisible smoke. No birds sang. No sounds came to the group, except for…

  "Was that a cracking sound?" said Saark, going suddenly very still.

  "Shh," said Kell.

  They listened. Beneath, somewhere seemingly
deep
beneath, there came another series of tiny, gentle cracks. The noises were unmistakable, and this time in a quick-fire succession like a volley of crossbow bolts from battlements under siege.

  "Should we run?" said Saark.

  "A very bad idea," said Kell, softly. "We need to walk. Quickly. And I think we should spread out. Distribute the weight."

  "I knew this was a bad idea," said Myriam, ice in her voice.

  "Hold your tongue, woman! It's saved us three days' travel, and every day matters with those bastard vampires out there; or had you forgotten our purpose, so busy were you sticking your tongue into the dandy's foul mouth?"

  "Let's just move," said Saark, holding his hands out.

  They spread out, to a retort of more
crackles
from under the frozen surface of Balaglass Lake. This time, the sounds were nearer the surface; not deep down, like before.

  "I'm frightened," said Nienna.

  Kell said nothing.

  They moved towards the iron-black trees, spreading apart, listening to the cracking sounds. Some were quiet, distant, deep below the surface; but some were loud, rising in volume suddenly until they made Kell's ears hurt. He increased his pace.

  Saark was jogging, with Kell to his left, Myriam and Nienna to his right. Mary's hooves clumped the ice behind him, and he stopped, suddenly. He felt the ice beneath his boots
shudder
. Could the impact of Mary's hooves be making it worse? After all, there was some pressure there. Saark turned and stared at the donkey. Mary eyed him warily, and brayed, stamping her hooves as if to ward off cold.

  "Whoa!" said Saark. "Don't do that, girl!"

  "Eeyore," brayed Mary, as if sensing something beneath the surface of the snow, something like a predator closing in on them fast. Saark glanced up. Kell had made the bank, closely followed by Nienna. The bank was a muddy, root-entwined step, maybe waist height. Kell reached down, and hauled Nienna up to safety.

  Saark started to run, then stopped as a crack opened in the surface before him. "Ahh!" he said, more an exhalation of horror than a word, and he took a step back. An evil, sulphurous aroma rose from the crack which zig-zagged before him. It shuddered, the whole toxic frozen lake seemed to shudder, and the crack grew yet wider. Saark ran right, where the crack petered out, and around it with Mary in tow still stamping those heavy hooves. Saark looked up, saw Myriam had reached the bank and Kell hauled her up a lower, ramped section. Her boots scrabbled and slid in the frozen mud. There! Mary would get up that!
How did I get so damned far behind? What happened there? Are the gods mocking me again?

  He ran for it. Kell grew closer, beard rimed with ice, face screwed into a mask of concern.

  "Come
on
, Saark!" hissed Myriam.

  More cracks rang out, like ballistae from siege engines; Saark pumped his arms, and Mary trotted obediently after him – and suddenly stopped, hauling back on the rope, rear haunches dropping, a strangled bray renting the air. Saark was jerked back, nearly pulled off his feet, and he whirled, scowling. "Stupid Mary!" he snapped. "Come on! Come on, damn donkey, or I'll leave you out here to sink!"

  Mary shook her head, braying, and a shower of spit hit Saark like a wet fish. Saark moved behind the donkey, and slapped her rump as hard as he could. Mary coughed, shook her head again, and launched ahead with hooves flying over the ice. Saark ran after her, saw her scramble up the slope, just as the ice opened up before him and his boots sank in up to the knees. He screamed, flailing forwards, stumbling, fingers brushing the bank. And Kell was there, leaning forward, and their hands touched and eyes met. "Oh no!" whispered Saark.

  Kell turned, fumbled with Ilanna. "Grab the axe, lad," he shouted, leaning out. But another crack rent the air, and Saark went under, and was gone beneath the surface of the frozen lake.

"No!" screamed Myriam, but Kell grabbed her jerkin.

  "Whoa lass, you can't go in there!"

  Chunks of ice bobbed, and Mary brayed forlornly. Snow began to fall from a bleak pastel sky, and they stood there on the bank, watching the chunks of ice, listening to more cracking sounds and praying for Saark. Kell grimaced. What had Myriam said? That the man's legs had eaten away after the toxins of the lake came into contact with his flesh?
But maybe Saark will be lucky
, thought Kell.
Maybe he'll drown.

  Myriam strained again, and Kell picked her bodily up, and moved her away from the edge of Balaglass Lake, her legs kicking, eyes furious. "Put me
down!"
she hissed.

  Kell dropped her on the frozen forest floor.

  "I'm sorry, lass." Kell shook his head sadly. "He's gone. He's dead."

  There came a surge from the lake, and Saark appeared gasping and spluttering, kicking and struggling. "I'm not fucking gone!" he screamed. "Help me out! Now! This shit! It tastes like shit!"

  Kell sprinted back to the slope, and lying full length reached out with Ilanna. Saark grabbed the blades, careful not to sever his own fingers, and Kell hauled him onto the sloped bank where he rolled, coughing and choking. Saark was covered in what appeared a thick, oily, black green sludge, and he coughed up some huge chunks which sat, quivering on the frozen mud.

  "Fucking horrible! It was fucking disgusting!" He struggled, fighting with his wet clothes until he stood, naked and shivering on the icy bank. He looked at everyone. "What?
What?
Come on, get me some fresh clothes, will you? Out of Mary's basket."

  Myriam found fresh clothes, and Kell grabbed handfuls of snow, scrubbing Saark's violently shivering body free of the lake's sludge. When he came to Saark's groin, he handed him a snowball. "Here you go, lad. A man's cock is his own business."

  "Myriam," said Kell. "Build a fire. I'll find some water, we need to get the lad cleaned off. And Nienna, can you get some firewood? Good girl." He turned back to Saark, struggling into thick woollens, his fingers almost blue. "What the hell were you doing, lad, putting that damn donkey before yourself?"

  "I couldn't leave her!" snapped Saark.

  "Well, I hope she was worth it," said Kell with a scowl.

  "She is. She is."

  "We'll see if you still think that when your flesh is peeling off your bones."

  "I'd forgotten that," shivered Saark miserably, and stared forlornly at his boots. They were leaking black dye onto the snow. "The whoresons! Those boots cost a pretty penny."

  "I think you've got bigger problems than that," snapped Kell.

  Soon they had a reasonably large fire burning, despite Kell muttering about visibility and smoke and announcing their location to every damn soldier, brigand, Blacklipper and cut-throat for a two league circle. Kell found a frozen pool, and cracking it with his axe, bid Saark undress once more and jump into the icechilled water.

  "But why?" he whined, kicking off his trews.

  "Get that shit off your skin. And out of your hair. Don't want to go bald, do you?"

  Saark looked at Kell in absolute horror, and undressed with acceleration. However, it took a prod from Ilanna to get a squawking, flapping,
very
unhappy Saark into the frozen pool and he went under, and spluttered up, and scowled and cursed, swore and chattered. He scrubbed at his hair, muttering obscenities to Kell, to Mary and to the world in general. Then Kell hauled him out, wrapped him in a blanket and supported the shivering man to the fire, laying his clothes next to him.

  "It's like having a baby again," muttered Kell.

  "Well, if you hadn't dragged us across that bloody lake in the first place, I wouldn't be sat here with balls the size of acorns."

  "So, nothing's changed, eh lad?" grinned Kell.

  Saark was shivering too much to reply.

  Myriam and Nienna got a large pan of broth cooking, and Kell disappeared into the Iron Forest searching for bad people to dismember. He returned after an hour, shaking his head, to find Saark slurping his third bowl of soup and in much better humour.

  "See?" beamed Saark. "Nothing wrong with me! Nothing at all! I think all these stories about toxic lakes that eat men whole are nothing but horse-shit ghost stories spewed by cranky old woodsmen around their inbred fires." He gave a meaningful glance at Myriam, and then sat back, opening his blanket a little to allow more warmth in.

  "By all the gods lad, put it away!" boomed Kell. "We don't want to be looking at that whilst we eat our soup!"

  "What's the matter, never seen such an example of prime steak before?"

  "I've never seen such a little tiddler!" roared Kell, good humour suddenly returned. "You make the sausages at the butchers seem quite majestic! Now put your clothes on, we've wasted enough time messing around here. We should get moving."

  "I have barely recovered from my near death incident," whined Saark, pulling his blankets tighter with a scowl. "The least you could do is have some compassion!"