Vampire Warlords: The Clockwork Vampire Chronicles (18 page)

  "So…" he frowned, "you think I'd spout our plans during sex? Like some loose-brained dolt?"

  "Of course you would, lad. You're a man! You think with your hot plums, not with your brain."

  "Oh, and I suppose the great Kell–"

  "There's a farmhouse."

  The two men ceased their squabbling and followed Nienna's line of vision. Through swirls of snow, halfhidden by a hollow of rocks and heavily folded landscape, there was indeed a farmhouse.

  "Any smoke?" squinted Kell.

  "None I can see." Nienna clicked her tongue, and led Mary ahead. Ten paces away she stopped, and turned back. "Are you coming? Or shall I go searching for food alone?"

  Kell and Saark followed at a distance.

  "Stroppy girl, that one," said Saark.

  "Yeah. Well. She's sad Myriam has gone, you know? They'd become friends. Been through a lot. Shame you had to start sticking your pork sausage where it didn't belong."

  "If you're going to keep on at me, Kell, I'm going to walk with the fucking donkey."

  "You do that, lad. No talk is better than your talk."

  "I'll watch her arse," muttered Saark, marching away from Kell. "It's a damn sight prettier than your battered face."

The farmhouse was deserted, and had been left in a hurry – presumably when the Army of Iron had marched through this way, months earlier. The travellers hunted through various rooms, scavenging what they could. Fresh clothing, blankets and furs, boots for Saark, salt, sugar, coffee, some raw vegetables preserved by the winter, and some chunks of dried beef and goat from a small curing shed with a slanted, black-slate roof. They found hard loaves of bread, which would soften in soup, onions, and also a large round of cheese sealed in wax which was placed reverently in Mary's basket. It had been a long time since they'd eaten cheese. That would be a tasty reward on the hard, unforgiving trail.

  Saark wanted to stay in the farmhouse to rest, but Kell shook his head, forcing them to push on. It was with great regret they left the sanctuary of the building, heading back out into the snow, into the folded wild lands. Soon it fell far behind, and only snow, and heather, and rocks were there to offer comfort.

Kell pushed hard, and they travelled long into the night before collapsing into an exhausted sleep. He woke them at dawn, and they pushed on again, grumbling and cold, feet aching, joints aching, growing a little warm with travel but at least now with bellies full of meat and cheese instead of straggled weeds and unwholesome mushrooms from the forest.

  The landscape here was warmer to travel, for the shape of the land, the folds and dips, cut down on many a crosswind. Once, Saark had been separated from a unit on military manoeuvres with King Leanoric, and had to walk ten leagues across Valantrium Moor. The wind-chill alone nearly killed him, and it took a week of hot baths, hot liquor and hot women to restore his good humour.

  Now, however, there was no promise of hot baths, liquor or women; only a cold prison mine and the prospect of meeting prison guards. Would there be nubile young women included in that gathering? Would there be succulent wobbling flesh? Eager thighs? Clawed and painted nails? Saark doubted it.

  For a week they travelled like this, Kell always ahead, his stamina a true thing to behold, especially for one so old. Saark and Nienna had taken to walking together, and for the first few days Nienna sulked with Saark, her lower lip out, face turned away, jealous no doubt of his frantic coupling with Myriam. But Saark worked on her relentlessly, with nothing else to do except talk to the donkey; and gradually, his charm began to break through her iron and ice resolve. On the third day after leaving the Iron Forest, there came a smile, quickly followed by a scowl. After four days, a chuckle. After five, a real bursting laugh of good humour. And by the sixth day she had started to talk again. Internally, he punched the air with joy; looking back through his long life of talking to, and fucking, women, he now realised Nienna had become the hardest challenge. Ironic, that only days earlier she'd been falling over herself to please him. To help him. To couple with him.

  "This feels like a never-ending journey," said Nienna.

  They had stopped at the top of a low rise, which fell away suddenly in a steep cliff. Kell had gone on ahead to find a safe path down. It gave them a good – if limited – view of the near distance. Anything further was blocked by occasional swathes of mist, or flurries of snow.

  "Hard on the feet," said Saark, removing his boots. He scratched his legs, then rubbed at his toes.

  "That's quite a stench," said Nienna, smiling to take the sting from her words.

  "I think it would win me certain awards, back at the King's Royal Court," grinned Saark, and pulled a face as he rubbed between his toes. "By the Chaos Halls, the old gimlet pushes a fast pace."

  "He is a great man," beamed Nienna.

  "Yes, with a bad temper and a tongue fiercer than a dominatrix's whip," scowled Saark.

  "You do goad him," said Nienna.

  "Only to keep the old goat on his cheesy toes. Look at it this way, without me to take his mind off more serious matters, he'd be going crazy with grief! My talk of wine and wenches gives him a simple anchor-point for his short-term anger episodes."

  Nienna considered this. "You have, er, enjoyed a lot of wine, then?" she said, carefully.

  "And wenches, that's what you really mean, eh?" smiled Saark, easily, and pulled on his boot. He removed the other. "By all the gods, this one is worse! How can a man's feet smell so bad? I do believe I should cut them off and burn them on the fire!"

  "I agree."

  "Ask me, then."

  "Ask you what?"

  "Whatever's troubling you, little lady. There's always something troubling you, young… no, no, I take that back. You're no longer young, are you? So I'll begin again. There's always something troubling you,
Nienna
." He smiled kindly.

  "Do you love Myriam?" she blurted out, then bit her tongue, aware she'd probably gone too far.

  The smile froze on Saark's face like a rictus of ice-smoke magick. It was a question he hadn't anticipated, and Saark looked down at the frozen rocks, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. His mind swirled. Did he love Myriam? Despite the fights, and the betrayals, did he? Did he
really?
Despite her trying to kill him? To drown him like a flapping chicken?

  And bizarrely, Saark realised that he did. But he recognised this was not the time to say such a thing, and especially not to Nienna, here, in this place. What harm her ignorance? What harm protecting her from herself?

  "No," he said, finally. Then added, "I have a lot of affection for the girl, after all, ever since she stabbed me in the guts we've been through a lot together." Then a flash of inspiration bit him. "What you think you saw, you did not. We coupled, but it was nothing to do with love, or even lust – it was everything to do with the clockwork. Everything to do with the vachine."

  Nienna frowned. "How does that work?"

  "I was bitten by a Soul Stealer; her blood-oil infected me. But the vachine are different from the vampires of old, and the blood-oil they carry instead of vampire's blood is like a drug, a living cancer, and without the clockwork machines to control it, it will finally kill you. What me and Myriam did was to save my life. Nothing more."

  Nienna looked into his eyes. And she heard it. The
tick tick tick
of the machine vampire. Saark tilted his head, and then gave a short nod. "Yes. It feels… odd. Almost like I carry a weight in my chest. But that is all. Otherwise, I think and breathe and fight and love, just like before."

  "Love me," said Nienna.

  "I can't do that," said Saark, stiffly. "Kell would cut off my balls, and you damn well know it!"

  "You have to live your own life. Don't be scared of my grandfather. I am a grown woman now, you said so yourself." She had moved closer, a lot closer, and despite Saark's accelerated vachine skills he only now realised. He swallowed. He could smell the musk of her skin and something took hold of his mind in its fist and squeezed, gently, and he felt himself losing control. It was always the same. With women. With wine. The temptation would present itself and Saark could never, ever, say no. It was as if his brain was mis-wired, and didn't work like a normal person's brain. He had not the capacity to deprive himself of
any
earthly pleasure. Saark was a slave to hedonism, and had very little real control in his conscious decision making. It was a curse he carried deep.

  Nienna was close. He stared at her lips, slick and wet. Her tongue darted out, a nervous gesture, and then Saark was falling into a well of uncontrollable insanity and every trick and nuance and skill fell neatly into place, click click click, like a brass karinga puzzle being worked by an expert's flashing fingers. And she tasted good, tasted sweet, and he was inside her and they kissed, sat there on the rocks, and kissed.

  Saark pulled away.

  "Oh!" said Nienna, and smiled.

  "Oh
no
," said Saark, and grinned. "But shit, Kell will rip off my balls! He'll rip off my head!"

  "Rubbish! It was only a kiss." And she giggled, but he could see it in her eyes, she wanted more, she wanted much more, she wanted it all. Saark swallowed, as a hand thumped his shoulder.

  "Not far now, lad."

  "Kell." Saark's voice was a croak, and he did well to speak at all.

  "Did you sneak up on us, grandfather?" said Nienna, turning her head and fixing him with a beady stare.

  "Heh, just checking Saark here was being an honourable gentleman. Anyway, come on, there's a cottage up ahead. It's been lived in recently, but it's empty now; probably owned by a crofter. We can have a good rest, I think we've earned it, and approach the Black Pike Mine prison fresh tomorrow, eh?"

  Saark stood, and took Mary's rope.

  And as Kell led the way, he threw Nienna a look which she missed; she was gazing, distantly, a dreamy look on her face.
Shit. Shit shit and double horse and donkey shit!

  Less than an hour saw them inside the small and cosy cottage. It was little more than a living room and a sidelarder, mostly empty except for a few flagons, old mouldy bread and three small sacks of grain. Saark made a nosebag for Mary, filling it with grain and placing a blanket over her back under a rickety lean-to on the south side of the cottage, where there was the least wind.

  Nienna prepared a thick broth, and Kell chopped firewood. He got a good blaze burning, and they sat, warm for the first time in what felt like years, bellies full of hot broth and mugs of coffee in dirt-ingrained hands.

  "I'd forgotten what it felt like to be a part of civilisation," said Saark, quietly, and sipped his sweet coffee, relishing the heat and the mixture of bitterness and sweetness all mixed in together. A contrast of pleasures.

  Kell snorted a laugh.

  "What's so funny?"

  "Not long ago, lad, this would have been far from your idea of civilisation. Where's all your raw fish on silver platters now? Where are your buxom serving wenches with rouged lips and powdered wigs? I tell you, a curse on nobility."

  "Spoken like a true working man," smiled Saark.

  Kell stood, and stretched, and Saark eyed the old warrior thoughtfully. He was much leaner than when Saark first met him back in Jalder, hiding in a tannery from a hunting Harvester. The miles, the fights, the climbing of mountains, it had done much to return Kell to a lean, rugged, muscular figure, despite his advancing years. Then Saark's eyes slid sideways to Nienna; here, also there had been a vast change in physical appearance. Whereas she had been slightly plump, and soft, her face carrying the puppy-fat of childhood, now she was slimmer, stronger, more muscular; she carried herself erect and proud, like a fighter. The fat had gone, and there were creases in her face, hard edges around her eyes. A young woman who had seen too much hardship. Still, she was coping, mentally, as well as physically. Saark wasn't sure how long many young women from King Leanoric's court, with their white make-up and long, crafted fingernails, would have lasted in the mountains, or being hunted by Soul Stealers and cankers and rough soldiers from the Army of Iron. No. Not long, he'd wager.

  Nienna saw the look, and gave him a dazzling smile. Saark licked his lips. He could still taste her there. It was most pleasant. His ruse about Myriam had worked. Nienna believed him.

  Kell moved into the small storeroom, and came out with a pewter flagon. He sniffed it warily, and his face lit up. "It's whiskey," he said, in all innocence.

  "Oh no," said Saark. "You know you shouldn't drink that. You
know
what it does to you!"

  "Just a small one," said Kell, and smiled easily, and pulled up a chair with a scrape. "Saark, after all the shit scrapes we've been through, lad, after nearly dying on Skaringa Dak and falling through that mountain, the least I can do is have a drink."

  "It makes you bad," said Saark.

  "No.
Too much
makes me bad. But I know when to stop. I always know when to stop. It's just sometimes I choose not to." He lifted the flagon, and took a hefty drink, then lowered it and smacked his lips with the back of his hand, rubbing at his beard. "By all the gods, that's a rough drop, but it warms a man's belly after a trek through snow, so it does."

  "Here." Saark took the flagon, and took a hefty drink himself. He nearly choked as the raw moonshine burned his throat, but Kell had been right, and it warmed him right through.

  "It's good, right lad?"

  "It's like drinking donkey piss, Kell."

  "You should know, mate. You and that Mary lass have got way too close." He laughed, and winked, and offered the flagon but Nienna waved it away. He took another hefty swig, and this time held it there for a while. As he lowered it, Nienna looked concerned.

  "No more, grandfather. Saark was right. It turns you bad."

  "Ach, I'm a big man, I can take the whole flagon and it wouldn't touch the hole in my stomach!"