Corpse Cold (Immortal Treachery Book 3)

by Allan Batchelder

  But when he thought about it, they were – what? – fifteen strong? Even if some of those fifteen were giants, they were hardly enough to take on tens of thousands of Svarren and a mad sorcerer.

  There was always Alheria, though. She was a goddess, after all. How many men was she worth, if, as she’d promised, she decided to attend the coming battle? Inebriated as he was, Vykers tried to run the numbers: say Alheria and the End fought one another. That left Vykers, six giants, six warriors, the Dead One and the actor to deal with the horde of Svarren. A sane man would have dismissed the idea as lunacy, but Vykers found it appealing.

  A thought came to the Reaper just then: what if these battles between the End-of-All-Things and Her Majesty were truly and only between them? What if everyone else was incidental and the deaths of those fighting on either side, unnecessary?

  But wasn’t that always the case in war?

  Maybe, Vykers reasoned. But most of the time, it was men fighting other men for things men understood. Who really knew what Alheria and her demented offspring wanted?

  Vykers stood, preparing to pack his gear for another day’s travel. The notion that everything he’d done in his last encounter with the End and everything he might yet do was only to settle bad blood between two immortals irked him. No, it angered him.

  “Change of plans!” he announced to his fellows.

  Humans and giants alike eyed him with a mix of curiosity and concern. Change of plans?

  “The one thing I don’t like is being pushed around like a pawn in someone else’s game,” Vykers went on, as his companions gathered around him. “And I’ve got a nasty feelin’ we’re bein’ sent to it in a dispute that’s got nothin’ to do with us.”

  “But the Svarren,” Beesmarch objected.

  “Oh, we’ll get to them. But I wanna do it when it’s right for us, not Her Majesty. And where it suits us, not the End. I wanna make it plain that we’re beholden to no one.”

  The brothers scowled at this, but Eoman and Karrakan nodded approvingly.

  “What, then?” asked Beesmarch.

  “We walk ‘til we sight those Svarren bastards, then we go East or West along their front until we find some forest. Those fuckers might overrun us on open ground, but we’re the ones’ll have the advantage in the woods.”

  A few of the giants and men remained skeptical, but Karrakan, for one, was elated. “Well bethought!” he called out. “I know my will-o-wisps prefer the greenwood!”

  Hjuest sidled up to Vykers and said, “Valk ‘til we find a vood? Might be a long valk.”

  “So?” the Reaper shrugged. “You got somewhere to be?”

  The red knight bowed his head in concession and rejoined the rest of the men.

  “Good,” said Vykers, before returning his attention to his gear. He barely looked up when Igraine approached. “Yes?”

  “I think you’ve made the right decision.”

  “I’m glad you approve.”

  “I believe the answers you seek will only be found in a direct confrontation between Alheria and her son.”

  “Then we have to make sure that happens.”

  “Just so.”

  Travelling with giants was surprisingly easy. They walked at a great pace, seldom talked whilst in movement, and could seemingly go forever without needing a rest. Those facts, combined with the mystical nature of Vykers’ horses, made the journey to the Svarren front and along it much simpler than the Reaper would have expected. The Dead One and his actor friend had a little difficulty keeping up, but they never complained, so that the group spotted the Svarren in only a few hours, whereas it might have been days under normal circumstances. Vykers then consulted the king of the giants and his shaman as to whether they ought to proceed in a western or eastern direction. Karrakan assured him that he ‘felt’ the closest forest to the southwest, so southwest they all went. In time, they lost sight of the Svarren horde, though Karrakan, who’d never been wrong so far, claimed he could still see them. That was good enough for Vykers. When the sought-for forest appeared on the horizon, the men gave a sigh of relief. Giants might have no problem with endless travel, but the humans were getting sick of it. Establishing a more permanent camp and resting for a few days seemed the most wonderful goal anyone could imagine. Beesmarch and the brothers groused about it, but the feeling was that they were secretly as content with resting as any of their smaller brethren.

  The sun set before the crew finished making camp, but that mattered little. Everyone had his own tasks and knew them well, such that a hearty fire, a warm meal and numerous tents were ready to be enjoyed in less time than it took a milkmaid to lose her innocence.

  The only complaint came from the fact that the giants had finished the men’s supply of ale. What had been meant to last for weeks had instead lasted only an evening and a half, and some of the men weren’t pleased.

  Vykers shut their grumbling up but quick. “There’ll be more liquor one day, boys, provided you survive these next few.”

  Once everyone was settled in ‘round the fire, Hjuest leaned in to Vykers and asked, “Vhat now?”

  “Vee vait,” the Reaper joked. As Hjuest didn’t laugh, Vykers elaborated. “I think we’re meant to walk into a trap, but when the front door’s standin’ wide open, I like to climb in the window.”

  “And zen?”

  “If the End wants us, he’ll have to change his plans. He doesn’t handle that sorta thing too well.”

  “And ze Qveen?”

  “I expect we’ll be hearing from her soon enough.”

  Hjuest bobbed his head to suggest he understood and moved off to communicate with the rest of the men. Igraine, Vykers noted, had seated herself between Eoman and Karrakan, though she kept her eyes down the whole time.

  What am I gonna do about that one? Vykers wondered.

  *****

  Mardine, On the Road

  It was easy to track the other giants, but it eventually dawned on Mardine that six giants had no need to be secretive. Who in his right mind would dare to attack them? Mardine, on the other hand, was a single giant, and nowhere near as large as the males she was following. If she’d had any luck in the past few weeks, it was in not being eaten by any of the wilderness’ myriad beasts of prey. Was this cause enough for hope? Mardine wouldn’t allow herself to think so…yet. She was thankful for every day she’d been given to search for her daughter, and doubly so for the ease with which she could follow her kinfolk.

  To her surprise, it appeared the giants she’d been following joined up with a larger group of men, for amidst the prints she’d come to think of as old friends, she found those of men and horses. There was no evidence of bloodshed or battle, so Mardine could only conclude they were all travelling together. A cooperative effort between men and giants? What could it be? She couldn’t recall ever hearing of such a thing and wondered if she wasn’t witnessing something momentous.

  A small wisp of smoke floated up into the chill winter air from a great pile of ash nearby, the remains of the group’s campfire. Mardine rushed to the blackened heap and was elated to find herself in a small but undeniable pocket of warmer air. More than that, the end of a charred bone jutted out of the ruins, as if beckoning the giantess forward. Mardine’s stomach rumbled, and she accepted the bone’s invitation, plucking it from the still-warm coals and holding it up before her eyes. She almost cried when she saw meat clinging to one end. It wasn’t much, but it was far more than she’d had any right to expect. She felt a moment’s concern about the origin of this prize, but as she inspected it further, she was convinced it was nothing more or less than a beef shank. Tears came unbidden to her eyes as she took an experimental nibble. Had anything ever tasted better? And though there was little left of the sinew, there was still the marrow – precious, precious nourishment for the giantess’ body and soul. And better perhaps than all of this, the fire pit’s lingering warmth meant Mardine was not far behind her quarry. When her meal was finished, she set off with renewed vigor
and – try as she might to avoid it – hope.

  She picked up her pace and broke into a jog. I’ll run ‘til I find ‘em or drop, she resolved.

  What she found first, though, was the largest gathering of Svarren she’d ever seen. Fortunately, they were still some ways off, but she could certainly smell and hear them and was beyond thankful she’d noticed them before they’d seen her. Those she’d been following seemed to have been of the same mind, for their tracks bent westward, avoiding direct confrontation with the savages. Mardine maintained her pace, tiring as it was, knowing that every step brought her closer to finding her kin and farther away from the Svarren.

  Her spirits began to flag when the sun went down and she still hadn’t caught up with the group ahead of her. Now, she feared meeting those things in the dark that she’d thus far avoided. Wouldn’t it just make sense, to be killed just short of her goal, just short of safety? Swallowing her doubts, she continued to push forward, even as a bitterly cold wind lashed at her face and snow dusted her path. Every step became a life and death decision, demanding she either summon resources she didn’t know she had, or stumble, fall, and succumb to winter’s ravenous appetite. With each successful step, Mardine felt new amazement at her own tenacity, although she felt no confidence in her next effort.

  Then came the moment when she couldn’t lift her leg again, when all the strength that remained to her was barely enough to keep her upright. A tear worked its way down her cheek and quickly froze.

  A light flickered in the distance, through some trees Mardine could not yet see. Deep, raucous laughter defeated the wind and bolstered the giantess’ spirits. Only another giant could laugh like that.

  Somehow, Mardine trudged onward; somehow she staggered into the firelight of Vykers’ camp. Somehow, she made her way to the inner circle.

  And then fell over onto Eoman’s lap.

  ~ THIRTEEN ~

  Mardine, In Vykers’ Camp

  The other giants made her comfortable, built her, in fact, a large cot right next to the fire and proceeded to tend to Mardine’s every need. The brothers erected a lean-to over her cot and ensured the snow stayed off her. Beesmarch gave her his great bearskin robe. Karrakan cast spells of health and fortitude. But it was Eoman who did the most to revive the suffering giantess, merely by opening his mouth.

  “Mardine,” he said gently. “I am astounded to find you alive, and the best is, your daughter lives, too.”

  Mardine exploded with tears, and it was all the other six giants could do to assuage her torrent of emotion. The weeks and weeks of grief, fear, fatigue, and endless desperation that had built up inside her gushed forth like discharge from a septic wound. Those watching understood this was a necessary part of the giantess’ healing, and so the men outside the circle of giants said nothing, but simply sat in silent vigil.

  Hours later, when the giantess seemed to be resting peacefully, Vykers and his men shuffled off to their tents. Eoman sent the brothers off to sleep as well, though he, Karrakan, and Beesmarch continued to watch over Mardine and would do until late the next morning.

  When Mardine finally woke, she found herself alone save Beesmarch. “Where are the others?” she asked the big giant.

  “You’re awake!” Beesmarch replied, almost smiling. “This is our home for the nonce, and so our kinfolk and the men are at work making it more comfortable – hunting, gathering firewood, finding water and the like.”

  “The other giant said my daughter is alive?”

  “That was Eoman. He is your king – our king. And yes, Esmine is alive.”

  At hearing her daughter’s name, Mardine again began to cry, but this was a gentler, happier episode. “And may I see her?”

  Beesmarch’s trace of smile disappeared. “She is very, very safe and well cared-for. But, alas, she is not with us.”

  Mardine bolted upright. “I have to find her!”

  “Easy, easy,” Beesmarch implored. “Eoman will take care of everything.” Beesmarch wasn’t entirely sure this was true, but, for once, he wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable acknowledging someone else might have the answers.

  “Where is my daughter?”

  Beesmarch did his best to look into Mardine’s eyes and provide reassurance. It was a new experience for him, but not as unpleasant as he’d feared. “She abides with one of our kin in a magical cave to the south.”

  “Just one of our kin?”

  “And a human woman, Melme or Delby or some such.”

  More tears from Mardine. “Nelby, too? Oh, I have wronged that poor woman.”

  “She did not seem…resentful…when I saw her last,” Beesmarch offered. “She…loves your Esmine very much, it seems.”

  Mardine felt another presence behind her and turned to see the king approaching. “Your Highness…” she said awkwardly.

  “Please,” he responded, shaking his head slightly. “Eoman.”

  “Eoman, then.”

  “Feeling better?”

  “Much.”

  Eoman’s face grew solemn. He looked both left and right before going on, as if to ensure no one else was listening. “How, though? I don’t mean to dredge up painful memories, Mardine, but I saw you dead. I buried your…what was left of you. The gods know I’m delighted to see you alive, but how is this possible? Do you recall anything?”

  What could she say? “I remember the cold and crawlin’ out o’ the ground. The rest…? I’m as confused as you.”

  The king sat back, considering Mardine’s reply. “I’ll confess, this shakes me to my very core, but as it seems a good thing and not a bad, I see no cause for fear.”

  The three giants sat in silence, enjoying one another’s presence and the warmth of the campfire, when the Reaper caught Mardine’s eye.

  “I know that man.”

  “So do we all. I reckon everyone, everywhere knows of Tarmun Vykers.”

  The name was like the ringing of a bell to Mardine, and she instantly became more alert. “And how is it you travel with the Reaper?”

  “We go to war, to exterminate the Svarren and the madman driving them.”

  Mardine looked around, confused. “But…where’s your army?”

  Beesmarch smirked at Eoman, who offered a rueful chuckle. “I grant you, we look like a pack o’ fools.

  “But…?”

  Eoman shrugged. “No ‘but.’ The Reaper’s got an idea that the Virgin Queen will do battle with this madman, leaving us free to deal with the Svarren.”

  “I saw thousands of them,” Mardine gaped.

  “Aye.”

  “And how many are you?”

  “Less than a score. Speakin’ of which, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  If it wasn’t her daughter – and Beesmarch had said as much – Mardine couldn’t imagine who it might be. While the king went and fetched whoever it was, Beesmarch offered Mardine a bowl of stew, which she sampled slowly at first and then wolfed down like the starving soul she was.

  “More?” she asked.

  “Much as you like,” the big giant answered, refilling her bowl.

  A shadow fell over Beesmarch’s extended hand, and Mardine looked up to see one face she knew and another she’d never forget.

  “Remuel Wratch!” she cried, rising to embrace him in a hug.

  “And Captain Kittins!” the actor laughed merrily.

  If Kittins was expecting a look of disgust, the giantess surprised him instead with sorrow and compassion. “What ‘ave they done to you, Captain?”

  “It’s nothing,” he said.

  Suddenly, Mardine’s eyes flew wide and filled again with tears. “Long,” she whispered. “Where’s my husband?” Encountering Rem and Kittins shook loose the last of her recalcitrant memories. “Where’s Long Pete, then?”

  It was Rem who answered, the only one who could answer. “The last I saw of him, he was wandering about up here somewhere, looking for Esmine.”

  “And she’s alive!” Mardine sobbed.

  “Is
she?” Rem gasped. “That is wonderful news, Mardine!”

  Even Kittins tried to look happy about it, but it was difficult, given his hellish face and naturally grim demeanor.

  “And how long ago did you part with Long?” the giantess pressed.

  “A fortnight, or thereabouts.”

  “And he’s up here, you say? Up north?”

  “Or heading this way.”

  Mardine made a move as if to go, but quickly stopped, raised a hand to her face and covered her eyes. “I don’t know what to do, where to go.”

  “I’d counsel staying here,” Eoman said. “We can’t spare anyone to lead you south to Zillia’s cave, and your husband’s more likely to find a group of folks than a single individual.”

  “But…”

  “He’s right, Em,” said Rem.

  At the mention of her old nickname, the giantess seemed to deflate a bit. “I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

  *****

  The End & Vykers, In Camp

  The End was done being calm and reasonable. What had it gotten him? Everything was going to shit again, just as it had before, and he could not, would not allow that to happen.

  He’d sent out Questing Eyes and Ears and determined that, yes, Tarmun Vykers had responded to his taunting. To a point. The Reaper had come right to the edge of the End’s forces and chosen not to engage. So, he was no idiot, give the man a prize! But what he’d done instead was even more aggravating: he’d stumbled upon the only forest for leagues and encamped there. In a forest! The End cursed himself for not burning it down as soon as he’d become aware of it.

  It wasn’t that the End feared the Fey, it was more that he felt the Reaper didn’t need any more allies than he already had. The End didn’t like the idea of Vykers whittling away at his advantage in numbers, and in a strange, petulant way, the End didn’t think it was fair, either. Why couldn’t the Reaper just fight him on his own terms? Why did he always have to be so…tactical…about things?

  Impulsively, the sorcerer sent another of his floating faces to threaten the Reaper. If the man wouldn’t cooperate, then the End would force him to fight. Yes, it was late morning, not the ideal time to maximize the frightening aspects of this spell, but the End was tired of waiting.