Vampire Warlords

CHAPTER 5

Dawn was bright and crisp and cold. Snow clung to bare, angular branches, and in the magenta glow of a new morning the trees did indeed appear to be cast from iron. Most were huge, gaunt, stark against a brittle sky. Saark yawned, stretching, and opened his eyes to see Nienna sat by the fire, to which she'd added fuel and stoked it into life.

Saark rolled from under his blanket and shivered. "By the gods, it's cold out here."

"Did you sleep well, Saark?" Nienna didn't look up, but continued to prod the fire. Her voice was soft, lilting, like a delivery of fine soothing birdsong. Saark swallowed, and breathed deep.

"Yes, my sweet," he said.

She looked up then, and their eyes met, and Kell's snore interrupted the moment like a burst of crossbow quarrels. Saark glanced over to the old warrior, who had turned over in his slumber, boots poking from beneath his blanket. It was as if he was mocking Saark, even in sleep. I am watching you, boy, the sleeping warrior seemed to say. Touch my granddaughter and I'll carve you a second arsehole.

Saark crossed and sat opposite Nienna. He watched her for a while, her delicate movements, and with a start he realised… On their long journey, she had changed – from child, to adult. From girl, to woman. She was harder, leaner, fitter. Her eyes were creased, and her face, on the one hand weary from endless travelling and the threat of being hunted, was also radiant with a new, inner strength. This was a woman who had stared into the Abyss, and come back from the brink.

"How are you feeling?" asked Saark.

Nienna tilted her head, giving a half shrug. "Tired. What I'd give for a hot bath."

"Me too." Saark coughed. "I mean, on my own, not, not with… you." He stumbled to a halt. Flames crackled. Wood spat. In the Iron Forest, snow fell from branches. Mary's hooves crunched snow.

"Am I so hard to look at?" said Nienna, suddenly, tears in her eyes. "Am I so ugly?"

"No! No, of course not." Saark moved around the fire, and placed his arm around her shoulders. He gave her a gentle squeeze. "You are beautiful," he said.

She looked up into his face. Tears stained her pink cheeks. "You mean that?"

"Of course!" said Saark. "It's just, well, Kell, and that axe, and, well…"

"You always say that," snapped Nienna, and rubbed viciously at her tears, heaving Saark's arm from her shoulders. "I think, for you Saark, it is a convenient excuse."

"That's not true," said Saark, and placed his arm back over Nienna's shoulder. "Come here, Little One. And before you bite off my head with that savage snapping tongue, it's a term of affection, not condescension." Saark hugged Nienna for a while, and rocked her, and she placed her head against his chest – so recently violated, now repaired with advanced vachine healing.

• • • •

Nienna could hear Saark's heartbeat. It was strong. Like him. And she could smell his natural scent, and it made her head spin and her mouth dry. She could see stars. She could look into heaven and taste the ambrosia of a distant, fleeting promise.

Kell coughed. "Sleep well, did you?"

Saark eased his arm from Nienna's shoulders. "Don't be getting any wrong ideas, old man."

Kell leered at him from the dawn gloom. "I wasn't," he said, almost cryptically, and disappeared into the woodland for a piss. Saark glanced at Nienna, as if to say, See? My guardian devil, but she was looking at him strangely and he didn't like that look. He knew exactly what that look meant. It was a look a thousand women had given him over the years, and Saark knew about such things, because he was a beautiful man. But worse. He was a beautiful man without morals.

He shivered, in anticipation, as a ghost walked over his soul…

They ate a swift breakfast of dried beef, and set off through the Iron Woods, Saark leading Mary by a short length of frayed rope. The walking was hard; sometimes there were narrow trails to follow, but more often than not these petered out and they had to travel crosscountry, Kell leading the way and cursing as he fought the clawed fingers of the trees and tramped heavy boots through snow and tangled dead undergrowth.

After a few hours of walking and cursing, they stopped for a break. Or in the case of Saark, for a moan.

"My feet are frozen! We should build a fire."

"We haven't got the time," said Kell, face sour.

"Yes, but if my toes freeze solid I won't be able to walk. Even worse, I saw one man once, used to work over near Moonlake when we had those real bad falls a few years back. He was stranded, out on the Iopian Plains, out there for days he was. His toes went black and fell off!"

"They fell off?" said Nienna, aghast.

"I've seen this also. In the army," said Kell, removing his own boots and rubbing his toes. "The trick," he gave Saark a full teeth-grin, "is to keep moving. Keep the hot blood flowing. When you languish on your arse like a drunken dandy, that's when you get into trouble."

Saark ignored the insult, and gazed around. "But it is pretty," he announced. "Reminds me of a poem…"

"Don't start," snapped Kell. "I fucking despise poets."

"But look, old man! Look at the beauty! Look at the majesty of Nature!"

"The majesty of Nature?" spluttered Kell, and his face turned dark. "Where we're headed, boy, there's little majesty and lots of death."

Saark considered this, as Mary nuzzled his hand. "And where is that?" he said, finally, when Kell ignored the hint to continue.

"Balaglass Lake," said Kell.

"You're insane," said Myriam. "We can't travel there; it's poisoned land!"

"Whoa," said Saark, holding up a hand. "Poisoned? As in, gets into our bodies and chokes us, kind of poison?"

"Balaglass Lake is frozen," said Myriam. "But not with ice, with toxins. Even in high summer it remains solid, but as unwary travellers wander across its seemingly solid surface, then a pool will suddenly open up and eat them. I saw it, once. Near the edge. Man fell in, up to his knees; over the next few days, the… water, or whatever it is, ate the flesh from his bones. We strapped him down, used tourniquets, a leather strap between his teeth. He screamed for three nights until we could bear it no more and put him out of his misery." Myriam faltered, and was silent.

"A happy tale," snapped Saark. "Thank you so much for lifting my mood!"

"We need to cross it," said Kell. "It's the quickest way."

"Where to?" said Saark, face a frown.

"To the Black Pike Mines," said Kell.

They stood by the shores of Balaglass Lake, but there was nothing to see except a perfectly flat platter of snow. A wind sighed from the edge of the Iron Forest, ruffling Kell's beard as his dark eyes swept the flat plateau.

"You see?" pointed Myriam, behind her. They looked at the animal tracks. "Nothing heads out onto the frozen lake; it's as if the animals know it's evil and will suck them down."

"What freezes it, if not the ice?" said Saark, rubbing his chin.

Myriam shrugged. "Who knows? It has always been thus. Styx said his father, and his father's father, had both always known it as such a place. And that only the foolhardy attempted to cross."

"How big is it?" said Saark, peering out across the desolate flat plain.

"Big enough," laughed Kell, and stepped out onto the frozen surface. "See. Solid as a rock."

Saark stared at him. "It's when you say things like that the ground normally opens up and swallows you! You should not tempt the Fates, Kell. Their sense of humour is more corrupt than a canker's brain."

"Ah, bollocks," said Kell. "Come on ladies, we have a mission. You want to save Falanor? Well it won't happen if you all stand there picking your noses."

"I do so under protest," said Myriam, and warily tested the surface with her boot. "Seeing a man scream with only bone sticks as legs taught me never to chance my luck here." Even so, she stepped onto the frozen lake and stood beside Kell. Then Nienna stepped out, and lifted her head proudly, turning to meet Saark's gaze.

Saark stepped from one boot to the other. "You sure there's no way round?" he whined.

"Get out here!" thundered Kell, and turning, stalked off across the plate of ice.

Warily, Saark followed, leading Mary who shied away, trying to pull back. "Shh!" soothed Saark, and slowly, gently, coaxed the donkey out onto the frozen surface.

Myriam, who was twenty paces ahead, turned. "See. Animals can sense it. Sense the death."

"Will you fucking shut up!" shouted Saark, irate now as he fought with the donkey. "Shh, girl, come on, girl, it won't hurt you, girl, please come on, trust me, it won't hurt."

"Is that how you coax all the ladies?" grinned Myriam.

Saark considered this, and frowned. "That's just a damn and dirty misrepresentation," he said. Then smiled. "Although I have to admit, it works sometimes."

Kell and Nienna were ahead, Kell striding through the powdered snow without a backward glance, the mighty Ilanna in one fist, his other clenched tight. Nienna trotted by his side, and glancing back, she saw Saark and Myriam following.

"Does this lake really swallow people, grandfather?" she asked, staring down at her boots. She had come to trust the ground, and the thought of walking on thin ice filled her with a consummate fear.

"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!"

"I'll have some compassion when you're dead. Get your trews on, I found soldiers out in the forest. Lots of soldiers. Enough soldiers to, for example, give us a real bad day."

Myriam stamped out the fire, and they were ready to move in a few minutes, Saark complaining about his wet boots and how he was chilled to the bone.

Snow started to fall heavy, and clung to the angular branches of trees like a white parasite. They trudged through the silent forest, leaving a narrow trail and cutting randomly between the trees in case the soldiers had seen their fire, and came to investigate.

The sky was streaked with ice.

And through this frozen forest world, they moved.

They came upon a deserted farmhouse, a leaning, ramshackle affair with no obvious trails leading to it, or from it. It must have been deserted for years, and the woodland had slowly reclaimed the land, the road and the stables. It still maintained a roof, and that was something, for the snow was coming down thick. Kell was thankful for this; as he pointed out, it would cover their tracks.

Kell allowed them a fire, for without fire, he said, they may die; and to hell with the soldiers.

"If they do come," he grunted, "I'll teach them something new about cold. The cold of an early grave."

With a fire burning in the old kitchen fireplace, and the sky dark outside, the enclosing forest blocked out ambient light and gradually piled high with the fresh fall.

Myriam disappeared into the woods, returning with wild mushrooms and berries from which she made a stew, and Saark busied himself in the stables making sure Mary the donkey had a thick blanket over her back, and was not subjected to too many draughts.

Saark patted her muzzle. "I'd have you in the house with us, but you know what Kell's like. Grumpy old bastard. Soon as eat you as look at you."

"Talking to your donkey again?" said Myriam, almost in his ear, and he jumped.

"By the Chaos Halls, you move quiet, Myriam."

"Just one of my many talents."

She moved in front of him, and draped her hands over his shoulders. She leant forward and they kissed, and despite the cold and the snow, despite the darkness and the distant nagging fear of their mission, of the vampires, of the state of Falanor, here and now they were enclosed in a shield of warmth and desire.

"You coming to my bed tonight?" she whispered, husky, pulling away but not letting go. She was in control now, she was the dominant one, her confidence returned tenfold, her eyes bright and eager. Saark enjoyed this. Enjoyed the reversal. It was stimulating.

"Yes," said Saark, seeing no need at coyness. His hands moved down her back, onto her buttocks, and he pulled her to him so their hips touched. He was hard against her, and he grinned because he knew that she knew; and she knew he knew she knew. They kissed again. "I'm going to treat you so fine, Myriam," he said.

"I know," she smiled.

"Where's that firewood?" came Kell's coarse shout.

"Coming, Legend," grinned Myriam, and filled her arms with chunks from beside the leaning, rickety stables. "And then we'll have some poetry! We'll have some hero-song!"

"Not from me you won't," growled Kell, and slammed the door.

The fire had burned low. They had arranged blankets before the flames, Nienna close beside Kell – presumably so the old goat can keep an eye on me and her, mused Saark. But as embers glittered, so too did Myriam's eyes and she rose, taking her blankets with her, and moved to the nearest bedroom. Saark followed, and stepping into the small room, he closed the door.

Myriam moved and opened the shutters. The snow had stopped, and eerie moonlight filtered in at an angle, highlighting her face, her high cheekbones, her smooth, pale skin. Her hair caught the moonlight, and shone like liquid silver shot through with strands of ebony. Slowly, she trailed to the bed and laid out her blankets. In silence, Saark did the same, and then they stood there for a while, staring at one another, like virgins on a first date, simply watching, not rushing, as if not quite sure what to do. Saark moved first, fired by lust and kneeling on the bed, and Myriam came from the opposite side to meet him. He touched her shoulders, and ran his hands down her arms, then leant in close and kissed her neck, and breathed in that musky scent. She groaned, a low, low animal sound from the pit of her stomach, and in that groan Saark sensed years of frustration, of longing, of need, and he caught sight of his own fingers in the moonlight and was shocked to see them shaking. What's this? Saark, the greatest of lovers, the most incredible seducer in the whole of Falanor, shaking like a child at his first sniff of an eager quim? He smiled, and enjoyed the sensation, and his hands took Myriam's head and his fingers ran through her hair. It was luscious, a pelt, and he kissed her and their tongues mated, and as they kissed they undressed one another, one item of clothing at a time, their hands that little bit too eager, a little bit too quick with excitement and the promise of what was to come. Saark touched Myriam's naked shoulder, as her hand slipped between his legs and took hold of his throbbing, eager cock. "A better performance than this morning," she purred, and bit his ear. He gave a little jump and grinned, face outlined by moonlight.

"You'd better believe it," he said, and his tongue left a slick trail down her jaw, then down her throat, and he took her left breast in his mouth, pulling slowly at the nipple between his teeth and holding it there as he felt himself pulsing in her hands and his own hand dropped between her legs. She was warm there, and wet, so wet, and Saark breathed in her scent and tickled her, slowly, teasing her with two fingers and her back arched and she reclined back on the bed, and Saark lowered his mouth to her cunt, and he played with her and she moaned, and his tongue teased and he nibbled and inside that dark sweet hole he could feel it, feel the rhythm of ticking clockwork and Myriam was groaning, writhing, and she could take no more and she pulled at him, her fingers eager and grasping, her nails leaving long red grooves down Saark's ribs and hips and he straddled her. Saark looked down. Myriam's face was bathed in moonlight, but more, she was lost, lost in an ecstasy and lost in the moment. She was so beautiful it that writhing, spellbound zone, and it was timeless, and endless, and she took his cock with both hands, pulling him urgently, guiding him into her and he fell, fell down a huge well of honey and spiralling scents, fell into a world of crazy colours which absorbed him, cushioned him, exploded him, and they fucked on the blankets in the moonlight, and it was slow, and beautiful, and sensuous, and Myriam clawed his back and Saark bit her neck, drawing a little blood with his vachine fangs but this made Myriam more wild, and she bucked, writhed, with him entrapped, unable to let go. It was magick, but a magick deeper than anything cast by the so-called magickers in their long silver robes back in Vor. This was a magick of Nature, a magick of the beast, and it was completely natural, a need, a lust, and they came together in a vortex of pleasure and fell down a long black well to the infinite realms of contented sleep.

It was morning. Early morning. A cool wind drifted in through shutters. Somewhere, a bird gave a splutter of song and Saark opened his eyes, looking up into Myriam's face. She rested her head on one hand, raised on her elbow, and she was staring down at him. She smiled, and he saw her vampire fangs, complete with traces of blood. His blood. But he did not mind. In fact, it excited him rather a lot and she noticed this with a purr of appreciation. "Again," she said, a growl, a simple command, and Saark gave a nod, and within seconds they were fucking only this time this time it was different and Myriam was more wild, far more feral and something had changed something had gone and they kissed and he thrust into her, thrust deep into her so hard he thought he would tear himself apart and they worked together, in perfect rhythm, and sweat was dripping from her face into his and as he rose frantically to an uncontrolled and uncontrollable orgasm so the clockwork went click and the brass wires and gold wires threaded from inside Myriam, and the clockwork seemed to know Saark was blood-oil infected, and they were needed, and the machines came through Myriam, through her womb and into Saark and he felt a scream well as he came, and in the moment of greatest pleasure, his moment of greatest vulnerability so the clockwork burned through him, entered him, and he writhed around and would have yelled and screamed but Myriam's hand clamped over his mouth and her incredibly strong body pinned him, rigid, locked down to the bed as the clockwork inside her split and multiplied and her eyes glistened and she understood.

Myriam stood, and watched Saark writhing on the bed, his eyes rolled back and white, froth at his lips.

Kell burst in, Ilanna in his great fist, eyes roving. "What's happened? Shit, Saark? Saark?" and he rushed to the bed and Myriam stood back. Saark thrashed, in agony, his body rolling and bucking and a smile was on her lips. Slowly, she dressed.

Kell turned on her. "What did you do to him?"

"I saved his life," she said.

"He doesn't look very well to me!"

"Listen. He was bit. By Shanna. You know how it works, Kell; I know you do. If he didn't get the clockwork, eventually the blood-oil would poison him; like the Blacklippers, but worse, for with them it's not in their bloodstream, only in their flesh. Here, he would have been dead within a week, no matter how strong he said he felt."

"Clockwork? But, how? How did you… " Kell's voice trailed off.

"Use your imagination, old man," said Myriam, and pushed past him, but he grabbed her upper arm. She struggled for a moment, but even despite her vachine strength, Kell was stronger. His grip was an iron shackle, his thunderous face doom.

"If you have hurt him…"

"Yes, I know, you'll plant that huge fucking axe in my skull. But just remember your complete lack of trust in a couple of hours when he comes round, and feels better than ever. Just you wait, Kell! I look forward to your apology. I look forward to that stupid pig look on your stupid flat face!" She shook off his hand and stalked from the farmhouse, looking for somewhere to wash. Her anger was tangible. Like blood mist.

"I don't understand," said Nienna, as Kell pulled blankets over Saark's naked body. "She said she gave him… clockwork? So that means now he's a full vachine? How did she do it?"

"I'll explain later," muttered Kell, and checked Saark's pulse. He had settled down, was still, although his eyes were still rolled back in his skull. His breathing was regular. Kell placed his hand on Saark's chest. Within, he could feel a heartbeat, but also a steady ticking; like a clock.

"Is he well?"

"Shit," muttered Kell and left the room.

Nienna moved to the edge of the bed, and sat beside Saark. She stared down at his face, and her hand moved, tracing down his beautiful features and coming to rest on his naked chest. She gave a shiver. And then she realised, both he and Myriam had been in here together. Naked. Now everything clicked into place. Now everything fit together.

Nienna's face changed, and the vision that swam across her young, pretty features turned her ugly for just a moment.

Composing herself, and biting her lip, and pushing away images of violence, Nienna stood and left the bedroom.

Myriam sat by a bubbling stream. Ice froze the edges, but it flowed down the centre, pure and fresh and icecold. Small blue flowers grew along one bank, where the snow had been held at bay by a line of dark green pine. Her gaze followed the trees up, up to distant heights; she reckoned them to be a couple of hundred years old. Magnificent. Kings of the forest.

She sighed, and dipped her hand in the stream, thinking back to the night, and their love-making, and the absolute total pleasure. Then her eyes grew bright, and she thought now of the clockwork, and Saark's acceptance of the clockwork – for she knew, if it did not work his death would have been instant. He would have died inside her. But that had not happened, and Saark was, now, for the very first time, true vachine.

" 'A creature of blood-oil and clockwork,' " she quoted. " 'A child of the Oak Testament.' " She had spent precious little time with Shanna, and Tashmaniok, the Soul Stealers who had turned her into vachine – and so robbed the parasitic cancer which riddled her of another dark victory. But during that short time, she had learned from them.

And the rest – well, Myriam smiled. The rest was instinct.

A hand touched her shoulder. She had not heard him approach, and she turned, and smiled up at him, and winter sunlight highlighted her hair and her smile.

"Myriam," said Saark, and crouched down. Now, his skin was more radiant. Now, he was at the peak of physical strength; of fitness; of clockwork enhanced life.

"You feel well?"

"Incredible," he said. And inside Saark, something went tick tick tick. His eyes glowed. He reached down and kissed Myriam, and they stayed there for a while, kissing, holding hands, listening to the burbling of the stream.

"We should leave soon," said Myriam. "In case more soldiers come."

"Of course. Kell will be shitting buckets."

"Did I do the right thing?"

"You did the right thing," said Saark, and he could feel it, he knew, inside himself, that without the clockwork he would have died; and it would not have been a good death. What Myriam had done was save him. She had given him a part of her own clockwork engine. Her own machine had divided, and grown, and become a part of Saark, golden wires and brass gears worming into him, meshing with his flesh, building him into full vachine. Real vachine.

"I love you," said Myriam.

"And I love you," said Saark, amazed at himself how easy the words came; although, in all fairness, he'd spoken the words a thousand times to a thousand different ladies. This time, did he mean it? Saark filed that away for later analysis.

"Now, you will never die," said Myriam. "And we will live together, be strong together, forever."

Saark frowned, but Myriam was looking across the stream. She did not catch his face.

"Just think," she continued, eyes distant, "we are so strong, we are like royalty, Saark! We could have anything we wanted! Gold, jewels, land, titles, we could take anything our hearts desired!"

"Wait," said Saark, his voice soft. But Myriam continued, pushing on, unheeding of the tone of Saark's voice…

"If we conquered the Vampire Warlords, just think what we could do with their power, Saark?" She turned and looked up at him, and misread the confusion in his face. "We could use Kell, get to the Warlords, slaughter them. We could absorb their power, or use their legions – for that is what they will be doing, right now, as we sit here by this stream. They are creating vampires, creating armies! But we are superior, Saark, we are vachine and we could rule the world together!"

"Wait," snapped Saark, pushing back from Myriam and standing. She followed him up, and now it was her face that held confusion. "What the hell are you talking about? Taking anything we want? Ruling the Vampire Warlords? What kind of horse shit is this?"

"We are all-powerful vachine, can't you see? Together, we can do anything!" said Myriam, and he caught a glimpse of her brass fangs. They had slid out a little. And he knew; that was a sign – of attack.

"I think you get ahead of yourself, Myriam."

"You said you loved me."

"And I do. But I didn't realise that meant ruling the whole fucking world with you." There was heavy sarcasm in his voice, and Myriam's face flushed with anger.

"Don't turn against me now!" she hissed.

Saark held up his hands. "Whoa! Hold on. We had some great sex last night, and I like you, Myriam, really I do, but I didn't realise I was signing a contract! I didn't think we were becoming partners in the destruction of Falanor!"

"What's that supposed to mean? We'd save Falanor!"

"What, and rule in the place of the King?"

"The King is dead!" snapped Myriam.

"Yes, and we are not able to take his place. What's got into you, girl? What the hell is this madness?"

"It's not madness," she hissed, eyes flashing dangerous, "it's ambition. All my life I have been looked down upon, spat at, sneered at, misjudged, pitied, and then the cancer sought to end it all with a mocking final dark salute. But the vachine saved me. And with that salvation, I realised I'd been given a gift. And so have you. And we can use that gift to ascend in power. And to rule."

"I don't want to rule," said Saark, voice quiet.

"I thought we were in this together," said Myriam.

"You mean you thought I was a tactical manoeuvre?" snapped Saark, his own anger rising. "Is that what happened last night, Myriam? Was I just a fuck to get the clockwork inside me, so you claim the credit and use me to do your bidding? I've seen women like you, at court, thinking all men are weak-minded and easily controlled with their cocks. You think you can control us, and get absolutely anything you want. And yes, many times we are; we are weak, and gullible, and we think with our dicks and not our brains. But I tell you something now, Myriam, and you listen to me, and heed my words. I am not weak-minded. And greater than you have tried to turn me against Falanor; but I love my country more than I love life, and I will give my last breath to save this place, not condemn it; and certainly not to place some second-rate vachine Queen on the fucking throne!"

Myriam snarled, and leapt at Saark with claws out, slashing for his throat. He side-stepped, back-handed her across the face and knocked her to the frozen soil.

Myriam wiped her mouth, looked at blood-oil on the back of her hand, and snarled up at Saark.

"You'll regret that," she hissed.

"Show me," he said.

She leapt, and Saark punched her but she bore him to the ground, where he hit hard, grunted, and they both rolled down the bank and into the stream, crushing the swathe of little blue flowers. Myriam's claws slashed for Saark's face, and he caught her hands but one razor tip cut a neat line from his temple to his jaw. "I'm going to slice you open, a flap at a time!" she raged, struggling.

"How quickly love turns to hate," mocked Saark, and kicked her between the legs. She grunted, and Saark's elbow slammed her face, but failed to dislodge her; instead, her hand shot out and thumped Saark's face under the water.

Myriam shifted her body forward, and put her full weight on Saark's face. He struggled, kicking, bubbles erupting in a stream through the ice-cold waters. Myriam smiled, applying as much pressure as she could muster, and she watched him squirm as if through frosted glass, face distorted by the water, and by his struggles, and by his furious anger. He spluttered, and bubbled, and Myriam wondered how long it would take to drown a vachine…

"Up you get, lass." The voice was Kell's, and it was colder than an ice-filled tomb. Myriam leapt backwards, twisting into a somersault to land nimbly on the opposite bank of the stream. She glared at Kell, and her eyes dropped perceptibly to the matt black Ilanna nestling in huge bear paws. Kell smiled, and gave a narrowlipped grimace. "Why don't you come over here," he said. "I have a gift for you."

"Fuck you!" snarled Myriam, and for a second her eyes moved from Nienna, standing pale and shocked, hands clasped before her, eyes wide, to Saark, glaring up at her from the stream and coughing up lungfuls of water. Then back to Kell.

He could see the fear in her eyes. A fear of the axe.

Then she was gone, sprinting through the Iron Forest, and in the blink of an eye she'd vanished through the trees.

Kell jumped down into the stream and Saark took his proffered hand, wrist to wrist in the warrior's grip, and was hauled to his feet. He brushed water off his jerkin.

"If I'd been quicker, I would have said I already had," said Saark, with a painful grimace.

"What? Fucked her?" Kell fixed him with a beady eye. "Lad, it's you who got a good fucking, that's for sure." Kell scratched his beard. "What, in the name of the Seven Gods and the Blood Void, was that all about?"

"A power trip, I think," said Saark, and stumbled up the slippery bank where Nienna reached out and helped him up. He smiled into her face, but she did not return the expression.

"Thank you, Little One."

Nienna scowled, turned, and disappeared through the forest.

Saark lifted his hands in the air. "What? What? Why are women so bloody complex? And what did I do to deserve all of this?"

Kell whacked him on the shoulder as he came past, and gave a bitter laugh. "You know exactly what you did, lad. And there's a hundred pregnant wives across the whole of bloody Falanor to bear witness to that one! However, we have more serious matters at hand."

"More serious than getting drowned?" mumbled Saark.

"Better come pack your stuff," Kell said, and his voice was serious. "There's soldiers out in the woods. Lots of soldiers. I reckon they're looking for something."

"Like us?"

"Yeah, lad. Like us."