“Step back!” Kittins yelled.
The blade in Cindor’s chest disappeared, only to reappear in a lightning fast slash through his neck, sending his head tumbling off into the snow, accompanied by a cascade of hot crimson.
“Get the head!”
“What?” Rem asked stupidly, still shocked from the sudden violence of his and Kittins’ actions.
“The head! Get the fuckin’ head!”
But when Rem looked, it was gone.
“It’s not there.”
Rem thought he’d known fear before, but a ranting, rampaging Kittins waving a bloody sword and screaming at him just about stopped the actor’s heart. The captain let loose with a torrent of profanity as he hacked, stabbed and pummeled the Shaper’s body into a feeble jelly. By the time he was finished, it was hard to tell where the fabric ended and the flesh began, to say nothing of the blood drenched snow.
Kittins bent down, grabbed one of Cindor’s ankles, and began to drag the mess off towards his own camp. What’s he going to do with that? Rem wondered. Eat it?
“Gotta burn this. Find that head or you’re next!” Kittins barked.
But there was no head to be found, and, anyway, what difference could the head make without its body? Still, Rem searched. After what he’d just witnessed, he didn’t want to risk angering the captain any further. The day was clear and cold, not a trace of clouds in the sky. As the sun crept higher, Rem’s mood darkened. He hadn’t found anything, and became increasingly bothered by that fact. How, after all, did a head just disappear? Where had it gone? Where could it go? He thought for a while that it might have been taken by animals – a fox, for instance. But there were no animal prints in the vicinity, which meant the head had disappeared on its own…
…Which meant it was still alive at the time.
Rem shuddered, and, this time, the cold had nothing to do with it. He heard Kittins’ voice nearby and fairly jumped out of his boots.
“You scared the shit out of me!”
“I take it you didn’t find the head,” Kittins replied, much calmer than he’d been the last time Rem saw him.
“No.”
“Figures.”
To say that Rem was taken aback is an understatement. “How does it figure?” he demanded, temporarily forgetting the awesome threat his companion posed.
“He’s a Mahnus-cursed Shaper, isn’t he? ‘Less you reduce the brain to ash, he ain’t dead.”
“What?”
“I saw an alchemist do something similar once,” Kittins shrugged, as if that explained everything.
“How could he not be dead? I shoved a poisoned dagger into his brain, and you chopped his head clean off before making mincemeat of his body.”
“I expect he planned for that type ‘o treatment. I expect he knew it was comin’, and he made plans.”
The bottom dropped out of Rem’s stomach, and the color drained from his face. “But that means…”
“He’ll be comin’ for us, yes,” Kittins offered. “On the bright side, it won’t be soon. I imagine he’ll be some time recoverin’.”
Rem’s legs gave out and he landed on his ass in the now-frozen blood.
“What’s wrong with you?” Kittins asked.
Instead of answering, Rem began laughing hysterically. Kittins had no patience for that and turned away to stalk back to his own campsite.
Well, Rem thought, I’ve just made a mortal enemy of the most powerful Shaper in the land. I certainly know how to pick my battles…
*****
The Giants & Nelby, the Forest
Eoman had been elated to find Nelby’s former captor tied up on the ground, because it suggested that Mardine’s girl couldn’t be far off. After what felt like several hours of fruitless searching, however, his enthusiasm slowly turned to frustration. Irritated, he called a temporary halt to the chase and sat on a stump to enjoy his lunch, a prodigious slab of pemmican. As he chewed, he watched Karrakan attend to the human woman and wondered if maybe they ought to have killed the slaver. The shaman had convinced his king that the man would die of cold soon, anyway, and it was best to let nature do her work without interference. Still, Eoman would’ve enjoyed pounding the bastard through the ice and into the frozen ground. It would have felt like justice. Once in a while, though, a king has to compromise if he wants to remain a king. Karrakan got his way, and the slaver was allowed to freeze to death. Eoman smiled, thinking it was just possible that the blackguard had gotten his face gnawed off by a wolf before that happened.
“Not sure I like that smile of yours,” Karrakan called over to his king, “knowing the way your mind works.”
“It’s nothing,” Eoman insisted. “But about this girl, now. Where in the endless hells can she be? How does a wee girl on her own elude us for so long?”
“She’s afraid,” Nelby said, so softly the two giants almost missed it.
“Makes sense,” Karrakan nodded.
“If we don’t find her by nightfall…”
“We’ll find her.”
“I hope you’re right, ‘Kan. I hope you’re right.”
He was not right.
Sundown came and went, and they hadn’t found the child.
“Let’s make camp,” Eoman said irritably. “I want a good fire and some rest.”
Giants have no difficulty finding wood for their fires, being much taller and stronger than humans. Tearing an old stump into kindling is easier for them than milking a cow. In no time, Eoman had a great fire blazing in the center of a small clearing, whilst Karrakan unpacked, unfurled and erected their separate tents. Before the king could refuse to shelter Nelby, Karrakan offered to share his own. If the king’s manners had deserted him, the shaman’s had not. And the thrall woman was not to blame for the child’s predicament, after all.
Under normal circumstances, Eoman and Karrakan would have wiled away the evening in stories, song and boasting. Somehow, Nelby’s presence made Eoman more reserved than usual. After an extended silence, he finally said, “Not feeling hopeful about finding the wee one.”
“That’s where we differ!” Karrakan countered brightly. “Ours is the only fire in who knows how many leagues, and a beauty it is, too. That might draw the moppet forth. And I’ll send my will-o’-wisps out, too. Children always find them fascinating!”
Although Eoman remained unconvinced, he noted a gleam of hope in the thrall woman’s eyes. “Send ‘em, then,” he said to his shaman.
Karrakan’s laughter seemed to sparkle from his lips into the night air, and, sure enough, his wisps appeared and spiraled off in every direction.
As the night wore on, Eoman and Nelby nodded off, too exhausted to maintain the watch. Only Karrakan seemed unaffected by the day’s slog. Hours into his solo vigil, a small face appeared at the edge of the light.
Esmine had arrived.
Karrakan made not a move, but smiled broadly. Bait the hook properly, and the fishies always come. The shaman whispered an order to his will-o’-wisps, and they began to swirl about the girl, leading her ever closer to the fire. Once Esmine was close enough to see Nelby, the child cast aside her fears and rushed to the thrall woman’s side, embracing her in a powerful hug that woke the woman and reduced her, immediately, to tears of gratitude and relief. Eoman woke, too, and sat by in silent witness, his stony heart softened by the sweet spectacle. In time, Esmine turned her attention to the two giants, entranced by their enormity.
“Mama?” she said.
She was not asking if either of them was her mother; no, she was asking if they knew of her, had known of her.
Karrakan held both hands out to the girl and she tottered over to him, grasping his nearest hand with both of her smaller ones, whereupon she examined it as if it were some sort of holy relic.
“The girl’s a half breed,” Eoman breathed, in a tone that was equal parts disgust and wonder.
“The girl’s a child, my king.”
“But…how? How is she possible?”
Nelby had scarcely said two words since her rescue by the giants. Now, she spoke up. “Her mother loved her father,” she answered quietly, so as not to break whatever spell it was that captivated Esmine’s attention.
“And who was her father?” Eoman wanted to know.
“A good man,” Nelby replied. “And a loving, and a brave.”
Esmine had crawled up onto Karrakan’s lap and was tugging at his beard experimentally. “That’s good enough for me,” he beamed.
“Hmph!” the king scoffed. “And where was this good, brave and kind man when…”
Karrakan cut him off with a glance. It was not his place to silence his king, of course, but he also did not want the girl to hear the details of her mother’s death.
Grudgingly, Eoman silently acknowledged that his friend was correct. Having just recovered the child, it would do no one any good to disturb her.
Nelby, however, caught the drift of his comment and responded anyway. “Her da went on a mission for the Queen, as I been told.”
“Queen? What Queen?”
“Why, the Virgin Queen,” Nelby responded, as if the answer were self-evident.
Eoman tossed a chunk of wood into the flames and watched until it caught fire. “The kings and queens of men cannot be trusted,” he rumbled softly to himself. When he looked over at his shaman, he saw that the girl had fallen asleep in his lap. Now that they’d found the child, what were they to do with her?
*****
Vykers & Turley, Lunessfor
Over the years, Vykers had learned that if he looked angry enough, folks went out of their ways to avoid him, despite his fame. Thus, he wore the mother of all scowls as he dragged Igraine through streets of Lunessfor, even though he was, in truth, in a fairly good mood. And why not? The snow had stopped falling, the sun was out, and there was an almost festive atmosphere amongst the townspeople. Sure, Vykers thought. That’s because they live on this side o’ the walls. Outside the city, there was less security, more uncertainty.
Vykers couldn’t wait to get back out there.
First, though, he had to reequip himself and his companion, which necessitated a lengthy jaunt through the market and the city’s various neighborhoods. Everything was proceeding as expected, until the Reaper heard a familiar voice.
“I vas right!”
He turned. Not twenty feet away stood the bedraggled red knight he’d once defeated across the great sea. At the man’s side stood the tall Ntambi warrior Vykers had likewise beaten.
“What?” Vykers said abruptly.
“I knew she vas you…student.”
Vykers looked at Igraine and then back to the knight. “How’s that?”
“She move like you…aldough today, she move…funny.”
Again, Vykers looked at Igraine. Well, before, he’d lived inside her. Now, she was home to the goblin, Turley. He reckoned that, yes, that’d make a difference.
“So, you speak the Queen’s tongue now, eh?” he asked of the knight.
“I try. Little choice, no?”
“And your friend?” Vykers nodded to the Ntambi warrior.
“Iss too hard for him.”
“Huh. Are you lookin’ for work?”
The man’s face lit up like a summer sunrise. “Yes!”
“Good. Come with me.”
“And zee udders?”
“What others?” Then Vykers remembered his other prizes, the other slaves he’d won in combat. “You’re all still together?”
The red knight shook his head. “Nah. Two iss dead, one is vee don’t know. But five of us dere iss.”
“Bring ‘em.” Vykers explained where his lodgings were and gave the red knight just enough coin to ensure his continued interest. “Meet us there at midday.”
Once his two newest companions had departed, the Reaper returned to the business of resupplying himself and Igraine. He wanted new armor, something light and flexible with just enough protection should he be grazed by an arrow or spear. And while his dagger was weapon enough for anyone, he wanted to hold it in reserve, to keep it a secret until such time as his need was desperate. Besides, he didn’t feel right without a good sword on his hip.
As he walked along, he considered Turley/Igraine. The goblin was still struggling to adapt to his new, longer, fully functional legs, but he’d get the trick of it in time. And he’d stopped crying, too, which Vykers was glad to see.
The only difficulty, from the Reaper’s perspective, was that Igraine was damned attractive. This put thoughts in his head that made him rather uncomfortable, considering there was a goblin inside all of that beauty. At the same time, Vykers felt an affinity, almost an affection for Igraine, for all they’d been through together and how well she’d served him. Perhaps if he viewed her as a daughter…
The red knight, the Ntambi warrior, and the rest of Vykers’ former slaves were waiting for him outside his lodgings, as ordered. Vykers tossed them two great bundles of food he’d purchased and led them inside, where they spread out on the floor, not daring to occupy either of the beds.
“Your vill?” the red knight inquired as everyone ate.
“My vill?” Vykers joked. Seeing nobody got the jape, he moved on. “I’m goin’ north. They say there’s a madman up there uses my name while he raids. I wanna see for myself.”
“And vee go vith?”
“That’s the idea, ‘less o’ course you all have something better to do…”
None did.
“Good. Now, I’m gonna give you some gold, and you’re gonna get all the gear you need and seven fast horses – better make it nine. You’re gonna be cold, wet and tired from here on out. Make sure you buy enough food so we ain’t hungry, too.”
The red knight and his friends bought ten horses – one for each rider, and the rest for gear. Or eating, if worst came to worst. He made a deal with an armorer and purchased eight identical military swords, four bows, and four spears. He bought enough food and spirits to last a month. And, of course, he bought the best tents, bedrolls and blankets he could find.
Vykers was impressed. “You got a name?”
“Hjuest, and it please you.”
“Ah, that’s right. You didn’t buy any wooden sticks to touch our enemies with, I see.”
Hjuest winced at the reminder. “I hev learned.”
“Good. I’ll make you my sergeant.”
“Sank you.”
“We’ll leave at sunset,” the Reaper explained. “Out the southern gate ‘n across that bridge. Not much of a ruse, but better ‘n simply headin’ straight north.”
“Vee must deceive some vun?”
Vykers grinned. “The Queen.”
Surprise was plain on the red knight’s face.
“We won’t fool her, o’ course, but I ain’t concedin’ anything.”
Hjuest nodded, as if this made perfect sense. Whatever else he was, the red knight was well-trained.
*****
Innoman, the Forest
The cold was killing him, and despite his ever-increasing difficulty in remaining alert and lucid, Innoman expected death within minutes. Gods, he was drowsy! What’s the harm, he wondered, in a little nap? When I wake up, I’ll feel…Yet, part of him recognized that if he dozed off now, he would never awaken. It was so frustrating.
He gave a listless tug at the cords binding his hands and feet, but had even less strength to deal with them than he’d had just a few breaths earlier.
With a sort of muted urgency, he tried to clear his mind. He shook his head, flexed his arms and legs and inhaled a massive lungful of viciously cold air. It seemed to slow him even more.
There must be somethin’…
He labored to take in the details of the darkened forest surrounding him, but sleep continued to beckon and tease. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement in the underbrush, an area of blackness that separated itself from the larger whole. It moved in an unsettling, disjointed manner that reminded Innoman of nothing so much as a drunken spid
er.
‘S probably a badger or some such, Innoman strove to convince himself.
But it was not. It was nothing of warm blood or honest intentions. As it crept closer, it resolved itself into a tiny man-shaped creature that might have risen no higher than Innoman’s waist, had he been standing, and the thing’s posture been fully erect. But it crouched and dragged the backs of its hands along the forest floor. In a trice, it vaulted onto the slaver’s chest and leered down at him. It studied his bonds and sniffed his garments.
“Help?” Innoman forced out through cold-numbed lips.
The creature chortled in response and fairly cavorted on his captive’s belly.
“Look you,” the slaver spat, “you fuck with me, and I’ll kill ya. Help me, and I’ll reward ya.”
This sent his tormentor into paroxysms of laughter. Suddenly, its face was terribly close to Innoman’s, and it stared into his eyes with palpable malevolence. “Hyreeeee!” it shrieked.
For a heartbeat or two, all was silent, and then the whole forest came alive with answering shrieks. Similar black shapes bounded from the underbrush, fell from branches and even seemed to rise straight out of the ground. They rushed as a single organism to Innoman’s prostrate form and swarmed his body. The slaver felt a sharp tug on his nose and saw the original creature attempting to pull his nostrils wider. The imp gave a sinister wink and then ushered his brethren towards Innoman’s face. One by one, the darklings forced their way into the slaver’ nose, mouth and ears, melting and oozing into his head as if they were not things of flesh and blood but of shadow.
And the pain was excruciating. Innoman screamed for as long as he was able, dying in agony, alone in the frozen dark.
*****
Long Pete & Company, Underground
Long Pete awoke in a good mood and well before any of his friends and took a lengthy moment to savor the strange, sadly unfamiliar feeling of well-being that pulsed through him. It had to have been the drink, but he’d not gainsay it. He hadn’t experienced anything like happiness in such a long time that he’d nearly forgotten what it felt like. Oh, he knew too well that he had to get on with finding Esmine. For the nonce, though, he wallowed in the absence of panic, fear or anger.
Corpse Cold (Immortal Treachery Book 3) Page 29
